Barry Smotter and the Sorcerer's Pwnage
by pierulestheworld
Summary: Harry Potter parody. When young Barry Smotter finds out that he's a wizard, and is sent off to a school for young witches and wizards, he finds friends, enemies, and other awesome stuff. Little does he know, someone is out to get him.
1. The Boy Who Didn't Die

_A/N: We do not own Harry Potter or any characters/similarities/aspects/anything else. This is merely a FanFic for fun. No copyright violation intended or aware of. The story takes place in an alternate dimension of Sydney, Australia._

~CHAPTER 1~  
>The Boy Who Didn't Die<p>

Mr. and Mrs. Deadly, of number 13, Boulevard of Broken Dreams, were proud to say that they were perfectly abnormal, no thanks to you. They were the first people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just loved such a thing.

Mr. Deadly was the director of a firm called Gunnings, which made guns. He was a thin, bony man with a long neck, clean shaven every day, though he did have a unibrow. Mrs. Deadly was beefy and brunette and had almost no neck and a low head, which came in very handy since she spent so much of her time hiding from the neighbors behind garden fences. The Deadlys had a pudgy son named Demon and in their opinion there was no worse boy anywhere.

The Deadlys could never be content with what they had versus what they wanted, but they had their greatest want – a secret, and, like all secret holders, their greatest excitement, as well as fear, was that somebody would discover it. They thought they could barely bear it if anyone found out about the Smotters. Mrs. Smotter was Mrs. Deadly's sister though they had only met once in several years; still, Mrs. Deadly simply broadcasted about her sister, though her sister and her wonderful husband were as unDeadlyish as it was possible to be. The Deadlys rejoiced to think what the neighbors would say if the Smotters arrived in the street. They'd heard rumors that the Smotters had a large daughter, too, but had only seen a son on video chat twice. The daughter (if there was one) was another good reason they wanted to keep the Smotters close; it would be nice for Demon, mixing with a girl or boy like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Deadly woke up on the light, sunny Wednesday our story starts, with everything about the subtle green glowing clouds in the sky suggesting that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Deadly belted a Taylor Swift song as he picked his most interesting tie for work, and Mrs. Deadly was silent as she gently placed a solemn Demon into his gilded solid gold throne.

They immediately noticed, but forgot, seeing a tiny, gray owl crash into the bushes after hitting their window.

At half past seven, Mr. Deadly picked up his gun, smacked Mrs. Deadly on the cheek, and tried to smack Demon good-bye but missed, because Demon was doing a workout video and working on leg lifts.

"Little dork!" screeched Mr. Deadly as he ran from the house. He got into his Ferrari and crashed into the mailbox of number 13, righted himself, and pulled out of the drive.

It was on the fork in the street that he noticed the first sign of something new - a dog trotting across the road with a map. He immediately knew what he had seen, and jerked his head around to look again (crashing into the neighbor's mailbox, too). There was the dog, but the map was now a book. What map could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the green glow. Mr. Deadly put his fingers in his mouth and stuck out his tongue. The dog did the same. As Mr. Deadly drove past it and down the road, he watched the scruffy gray dog with spectacle marks and bare patches of fur in his mirror. He swerved to avoid yet another mailbox. He had hit that one yesterday. The dog was now pulling down the piece of paper that read 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams'. Dogs could only read newspapers and books! Mr. Deadly hit himself and put it in the back of his mind. As he drove into the wilderness, he thought of nothing except a large order of AK47s he was hoping to get that day.

Though half-way through town, guns were almost completely driven out his mind (not that he had much of one anyway). He noticed that there were people more oddly dressed than him! They wore cloaks, Victorian age clothes, smocks, women's bed clothing…. He found this funny! If he weren't in his car, he would've gone out and swapped fashion tips with them. He saw one man in a group who wore an emerald cloak. _It complements him very well, _Mr. Deadly thought. Fashion was driven out of his mind an hour later when he arrived in the Gunnings parking lot.

Mr. Deadly always stared out of the window at work. He never actually did any work. He saw some very odd things but always forgot about it. Everyone thought he had short term memory. He saw owls smash into his window and some narrowly avoid crashing. He pointed and stared with the other people. He ignored other people and just stared at the 'pretty birds'. He was in a good mood until he decided to go to the Green Market and buy himself a snack.

He'd forgotten about the fashionable people until he saw another group of them near the entrance to the store. He turned towards them as he past. He didn't know why, but they seemed familiar. They were speaking very loudly, but he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. It was on his way back past them, stuffing a whole Twinkie into his mouth, that he caught a few words, and listened in eagerly for fashion tips.

"The Smotters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

"-No, their son, Barry, there's no daughter-"

Mr. Deadly stopped, um, dead. He immediately fled from the shouting people, fear as well as excitement kindling inside of him.

He hailed a coming taxi, and when it didn't stop, jumped atop it and climbed in through the moon roof. He arrived back at his office, told the secretary to guard the door, yanked out his IPhone 4G and had almost finished dialing Mrs. Deadly's blackberry when he dropped the phone. Too lazy to pick it up, he plopped into the Twinkie shaped beanbag in the corner. He stroked his unibrow, thinking... no, he was being totally uncool. Smotter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people named Smotter who had a son named Barry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece, er, nephew was called Barry. He'd only seen him twice. It might have been Harry- no, that wasn't it. Or Barney. Yes, that one. There was no point in involving Mrs. Deadly; she always got so excited at the mention of her sister. He was sorry about that- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in smocks...

He decided to concentrate back on guns that afternoon, but when he left the office at six o'clock, he remembered and became so excited that he pushed a girl out of his way just outside the door.

"Oops," he mocked as the tall young girl stumbled and fell, sliding across the tiled floor. He immediately noticed that she was wearing a nightdress and smock. She seemed perturbed for a moment, then smiled and said in a deep voice that made the secretary and Mr. Deadly laugh. "It's cool. I'm less depressed than usual today! Rejoice, for Guess-Who has disappeared at last to somewhere we can't find him! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this less depressing day!"

And the young girl hugged Mr. Deadly around his head and sprinted off.

Mr. Deadly slowly turned a 360, but the girl had gone. He had been hugged- kind of- by a total- but familiar- stranger. He also knew that he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He whimpered, shaken. He hopped into his Ferrari and sped home, hoping that he was dreaming, which wasn't good since he lived on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams and had long since given up dreaming.

As he pulled into the backyard of number 13, the second or third thing he saw- and it greatly interested him again, hoping for another mirror game- was the gray dog he'd seen that morning. Up close now, you could see its ribs through its fur and it looked to have mange. It had just jumped to the hood of his car. He was sure it was the same one; it had the bare patches.

"Please, stop! You'll scratch the car!" he shouted, feeling for his gun.

The dog threw its head back and seemed to laugh. Then, it jumped off the car and went around the back of the mansion. Pulling up his mental pants, he kicked down the door to his house. He was still debating whether to tell his wife anything.

Mrs. Deadly had had a horrible, strange day. Even more owls had hit the window and there was now an owl shaped hole in the window. Demon had learned a new word (Alien!) from the neighbors. When Demon had been to put to sleep (and resurrected in the morning by his Horcrux they had made last night) he went into the bathroom to catch the beginning of the evening news.

"To begin, this horrible evening, owls have been behaving erratically. Workers at Gunnings report, that hundreds of owl have been smashing into their windows and following them the whole day." They showed a clip of the secretary of Gunnings running and screaming from an owl that was pecking her. The newscaster grimaced at that. "And off to Ted Tongs for the weather! Going to be anymore owl showers tonight?"

"Well, Brian," the weatherman, Ted Tongs, said. "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls acting weird today. The squirrels as far as Sydney, Victoria, and Tasmania have been attacking people! Also, instead of the rain I predicted yesterday, there's been a downpour of bullets from nowhere. Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—whatever the heck that is! But I can promise a cold night tonight!"

Mr. Deadly shifted uncomfortably in his Twinkie shaped armchair. Falling bullets all over Australia? Owls attacking in the daytime? Fashionable people all over town? And an exclamation, an exclamation about the Smotters.

Mrs. Deadly squeezed into the bathroom carrying two cups of hot chocolate. He'd have to tell her. He cleared his throat dramatically. "Er, Daisy, Dear—have you heard from your sister lately?"

As he expected Mrs. Deadly perked up. She loved her sister.

"No," she said quietly. "Why?"

"Just boring stuff on the news," Mr. Deadly declared. "Owl attacks, bullets, and there were a lot of fashionable people in town today…."

"And?" Prompted Mrs. Deadly.

"Well, I wasn't sure about… probably… maybe it involved… well… her group."

Mrs. Deadly sipped her hot chocolate, but spit it back out because it burned her tongue. Mr. Deadly wondered whether he should tell her he heard the name Smotter. He decided he shouldn't. Instead, trying to be mysterious, he said, "Their son—he'd be about Demon's age right now?"

"Yeah!" Mrs. Deadly said excitedly.

"What's his name again? Harry, was it?"

"Of course not! That's a stupid name! It's Barry. Beautiful, poetic name if you ask me."

"Oh, duh," said Mr. Deadly, his heart singing with excitement, "I quite agree."

He decided to bring back up the owls again as they took the elevator to bed. When Mrs. Deadly went back down to retrieve the hot chocolate she had forgotten, Mr. Deadly stomped to the back window and leaned out and looked down. The dog was still there, pacing back and forth. It was staring down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, as if waiting for something. He thought this may have something to do with the Smotters. If it did… if it got out they were related to a pair of—well that could go either way. The Deadlys got into bed. Mrs. Deadly fell asleep quickly, but it took Mr. Deadly awhile, trying to clear his mind. His last sad thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Smotters were involved, they were probably dead. The Smotters knew very well what he and Daisy thought of them…. Still, he hoped they were alive so they could get together—he yawned and rolled onto his stomach—he hoped it would affect them….

How lucky he was.

Mr. Deadly may have been slipping into a peaceful sleep, but the dog rolling in the flower bed outside, showed no sign of fatigue. It howled when a car door slammed and tried to eat two owls who ran into each other. It was almost three in the morning when it finally wore itself out.

A man had appeared in the middle of the street, so loudly, several people who were still up looked out their windows, only to go back for the thought that they were dreaming. The dog gave a happy bark.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, like this man had ever been seen before on this street. He was rather short, with long, horribly dyed black hair, that went down to his knees and had a pink bow tied in it. Yes, pink. In fact, everything he wore was pink. His robes, his cloak, his boots, and his designer purse that had a toy Chihuahua in it. He had dark brown eyes that sparkled and a rather small pair of square glasses. This man's name was Babble Mumblemore.

Babble Mumblemore seemed to ignore the fact that the street clearly, and strongly, told him that he was unwanted. He was staring at the dog, which was still barking happily. For some reason the dog seemed to anger him. He scowled at it. "I should have known."

He put his hand into his beard and pulled out a Juicy Drop Pop. He squeezed it and a blinding white light came out of it. The few other people, who had still been at their windows, ran away screaming about how they were blind. He chuckled. Strangely, neither Mumblemore nor the dog seemed to be bothered by the light. Putting the candy (well, sorta) back in his beard, he began to walk to the dog who gave another happy bark. Not wanting to dirty his clothes by sitting on the ground, he stood next to the dirty dog. After staring at it in disgust, he spoke:

"Not very nice meeting you here, but I guess you're better than anyone else, Professor McMonomial."

He looked down to glare at the dog, but instead found he didn't need to. He was now glaring at a rather young woman, who had a distinct air of care-freeness around her. She was wearing a nightgown of blood red. She looked, now, as if she would wag her tail if she still could.

"I'm so glad you knew it was me!" she squealed.

"I wish it wasn't…."

"I'm ignoring that. So why are you here? Did you come to see me!"

Mumblemore rolled his eyes. "No. I was just passing by on my way from a party. They were having some good ones over yonder."

Shockingly, despite her appearance, Professor McMonomial said, "I don't like parties. Especially the ones over yonder. Horrible host. They also should be a bit more careful! Those Muggles had left their smellyvision on and I saw their antics were on their news! Owl crashing, squirrels, even bullets! I bet that was Puzzle Piece. He was always missing a few cents, if you know what I mean."

"Well, can you blame him?" Mumblemore exclaimed harshly. "We haven't had any good things happen to us for eleven years!"

"I know, I know. But still." Professor McMonomial gave a sigh and rolled her eyes at the same time. "I don't want to know what the Muggles thought of the clothes though! They must've thought the others idiots! And the rumors!" She looked at Mumblemore. "Wouldn't it be oh so ironic that the day Guess-Who disappeared that the Muggles find out about us. Ha. Also, he is gone, right? I've heard that he created something that will keep him alive, but that's not true, right?"

"Of course he's gone," Mumblemore easily lied. "Good, no? Juicy Drop Pop?" He pulled another one out of his beard.

"No! Those are disgusting!"

"More for me!" He ignored the disgusted look Professor McMonomial was giving him.

"So, it's true that Guess-Who—"

"My… somewhat dear Professor, surely I have made it clear that it is perfectly A-OK to say his name? Come on, say it with me: Moldyshorts!" He ignored Professor McMonomial's scared snort of laughter. "I will never get why we call him Guess-Who. I always confuse it with the game. It's no use being afraid of his name. I'm not!"

"Not all of us are brave enough." Professor McMonomial said, with yet another roll of the eyes. "Plus, everyone knows Guess—oh OK!—Moldyshorts, was afraid of you."

"Aw. Thanks for that compliment. But he had powers I never had."

"Only because you're not on the Dark Side, Luke."

"What?"

"Nothing," Professor McMonomial said quickly. "Anyways, do you know what they're saying? About why he's gone and how?"

This seemed to be why Professor McMonomial had been at the Deadlys' house all day. She was giving Mumblemore the sharpest stare she'd ever given, something quite out of character for her. When it became clear to her that Mumblemore wasn't going to say anything, she spoke again:

"What they're saying is that last night Moldyshorts went to find the Smotters. The rumor is that Edelweiss and Lames Smotter are—are—"she burst into tears, "DEAD!"

Mumblemore bowed his head and Professor McMonomial sobbed even harder.

"Edelweiss and Lames… oh, I didn't want to believe it… I didn't really… Oh, Babble…" The next words were unintelligible. Mumblemore silently patted her shoulder.

Professor McMonomial's voice grew higher as she went on. "And that's not all! They're saying Moldyshorts went to kill the boy, or girl, whatever! He couldn't kill it! He couldn't kill Barry Smotter. Moldyshorts' power somehow broke—and poof! He disappeared!"

Mumblemore nodded and put a hand on his hip.

"So it's true! Noooo! After everything! All the deaths, he couldn't kill a one-year old? It's shocking… out of everything… how in the name of pie did Barry survive?"

"It's like the Tootsie Pop owl says… 'The world may never know,'" Mumblemore quoted.

With McMonomial crying, Mumblemore looked at his golden, pink sapphire studded Rolex. It was very strange; instead of numbers, or even planets, there was nothing there. Mumblemore must have known its meaning though, since he put his arm back down. "Hairgrid's late. Did he tell you to come here?"

"Maybe. But I thought you said you came from a party!"

"I did. But I was going to come here anyways. I am bringing Barry to his aunt and uncle."

She gasped dramatically. "You don't mean the people who live here!" She walked over and kicked Mr. Deadly's car, setting off the alarm. "You can't! They're too weird! You don't want Barry Smotter to end up like you, do you?"

"It's a risk I will have to take. And I've written them a letter that explains everything. And you must know how eager they are..." He trailed off.

"A letter! Well, I suppose that's good enough... So who's bringing him?" She eyed his beard as if he could fit a baby in there. Which he probably could. Beware babies, beware.

"Hairgrid, unfortunately. I don't think it wise, but he was the first person I could find." Mumblemore sighed.

"Nonsense! Hairgrid is one of the most trustworthy people I know! Then again… I only know you and him…." She looked dramatically into the distance before squinting. "What was that?"

A humming sound was slowly growing louder. They stared as one of those electric, seated scooters came down from the sky and landed near them. It was bright blue and had red racing stripes. On it was a small man with an obscene amount of brown hair. His beard and mane of hair was even longer than Mumblemore's. He was wearing leather, and, poking out of his hair, was what looked like the top of a guitar. On his legs was a bundle of, not blue nor pink, but purple blankets.

"Hairgrid!" Mumblemore said, looking immensely relieved. "Where did you get the scooter? It might have been faster to walk."

"I borrowed it, Professor Mumblemore, dude," said the small man getting off said scooter. "From young Sarcastic White. He's right here, dude."

"Sarcastic White? Here?" Professor McMonomial asked.

"I think he meant Barry Smotter," Mumblemore told her. "Were there any problems?"

"No dude. House was, like, totaled, but I got away before Muggles came to ask for my autograph. He fell asleep halfway through the flight…." Hairgrid held out the tiny bundle and the other two had to bend down low to see in it. Inside, was a small boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of silvery-blonde hair was an oddly shaped cut, like a heart.

"So that's where…" Professor McMonomial said while stretching out her arm. Mumblemore slapped it away. "Will he have it forever?" she asked.

Mumblemore nodded. "Scars can come in handy though. I have one that spells out the capitals of all the countries in Africa. Well, we better hand him over." Mumblemore began to search for something in his beard.

"Could—could I say 'bye to him, dude?" He bent over the small bundle and gave the thing in it great butterfly kisses. Suddenly, Hairgrid lost his cool and gave a horrible howl.

"Shut up!" Professor McMonomial hit him on the head. She looked up and saw that the Muggles were still running around blind.

"S-s-sorry." He sniffed. "I just cannot stand it! E-Edel and La-a-ames dead! And poor Barry off to live with Muggles!" He gave Barry to Professor McMonomial and lay down on the floor to cry like a five-year old.

"Get a grip, dude." She said, bouncing Barry. With that, Mumblemore took out a giant slingshot. He took Barry and put him in it, with the letter. "Wait!" Professor McMonomial exclaimed. She took a rock and threw it through the window of the Deadlys' master bedroom. Mumblemore nodded and pulled back the band. There was a small sigh as a small bundle flew through the air and into a bed.

"Well, I best be getting back to the party over yonder. Anyone else want to come?" Mumblemore said after a period of silence.

"Nah. I best get this away. G'day, Professor Mumblemore, Professor McMonomial, dudes." Wiping his eyes, he went back onto the scooter and flew off into the night.

"Shall I see you at the party?" Mumblemore asked again. Professor McMonomial simply sighed.

Mumblemore walked back to the middle of the street. There was no need for the Illuminator; the Muggles were still blind. He noticed a mangy dog slink away into the night, much less excitable than in the morning. He could faintly hear exclamations from number 13.

"Good luck, Barry." And with a loud pop he disappeared.

Barry didn't know that at that moment he was being ogled at by his aunt and uncle. He didn't know that he was very special or that he was missing some great parties or that he would soon have a cousin as a playmate. He couldn't know that at the very moment, people in smocks and nightgowns and cloaks were giving toast to him, "To Barry Smotter! The boy who didn't die!"


	2. The Hamster Ball

_A/N: We do not own Harry Potter or any characters/similarities/aspects/anything else. This is merely a FanFic for fun. No copyright violation intended or aware of. The story takes place in an alternate dimension of Sydney, Australia.(Don't ask why)_

~Chapter 2~_  
><em>The Hamster Ball__

Nearly ten years have passed since the Deadlys had woken up to find their nephew flying threw the window, but Boulevard of Broken Dreams had only changed a smudge. The sun set on the same wild garden and dimmed the silver lion-head knocker on the Deadlys' front door into shadow; it crept out of their living room, which was the same as it had been the night Mr. Deadly had heard the news report of the bullets. Only the mold on the mantlepiece showed how much time had passed.__

Ten years ago, the mantlepiece had been spotless, but now it was a disgusting mess. Demon Deadly was no longer a horrendous baby- he was a horrendous child! The few pictures showed.__

The room now showed many signs that another boy lived in the house too. __

Barry Smotter was there, asleep at the moment, but not for long! His Aunt Daisy was awake, and it was her gentle tone that he heard first this day.__

"Time to wake up hon!" She said lovingly. Barry groaned. "It's almost one o'clock."__

She threw the door open just as Barry was going to go out, hitting him in the face.__

"Ow!"__

"Oops!" She said, and with a worried look, ran into the kitchen. As he was sprawled on the floor, he tried to remember the nightmare he just had. It had been horrific- there had been a flying scooter. _Woah... de ja vu! _he thought.__

Daisy was back outside the door:__

"Are you ready to get up?" She asked.__

"Not really." Barry replied.__

"Well go back to bed then! I must look after the bacon, we don't want it to burn! Demon wants everything perfect on his birthday. You know sentimental he gets." Barry smiled.__

"See you later," she said as her footsteps receded.__

Demons birthday... the best day of the year! He had been waiting months for this. Barry got out of bed to look for his black jeans and t-shirt. He found them hanging in his walk in closet, in his third story master bedroom. __

When he was dressed, he went down the elevator to the kitchen. There was only one present on the table. It looked like Demon had gotten the only thing he wanted- love (and a Twinkie). Demon's favorite person to love was Barry, but Barry was good at avoiding him.__

Despite his life of luxury, Barry was small and skinny for his age. He always looked as small as he was since he wore super tight jeans and t-shirts. Demon, however, was only half his size, but much thicker. Barry had a long face, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. He wore contacts because Demon always said he looked more attractive without glasses. The only thing Barry didn't like about his appearance was a heart shaped scar on his forehead- it made him look like a girl! He didn't even notice he had it until his aunt had pointed it out. The first question he asked her was how he got it.__

They always just said: __

"You''tanddiedandgaveyouthatscar. And if you ever need to ask more questions, feel free to!" Always inquire, that was the first rule of living with the Deadlys.__

Uncle Very entered the kitchen as Barry was eating the first piece of bacon.__

"Your hair looks nice today!" He said as he came in.__

About once a week Uncle Very looked up over the top of his manga and complimented Barry's appearance. Barry must have had more compliments than the rest of the boys in his class put together. But it made no difference- he still had low self esteem.__

Barry was eating eggs by the time Demon came into the kitchen with his mom. Due to their Twinkie addiction, Demon and his dad had become as fat as Daisy. Aunt Daisy often said he looked like a pig in a wig- Barry often said he looked like a cherub. Barry got a second plate of eggs and bacon and sat at the table. Demon, meanwhile, was counting his present. __

His face lit up.__

"One! Thats one more than last year!" he yelled. __

"Yes thats all dear."__

"Thank you!" Demon managed to choke out. He looked as if he were about to cry.__

Barry, who didn't like emotion, began wolfing down bacon and eggs trying to get out of the room before the tears began to run.__

Aunt Daisy obviously scented the emotion too because she said quickly, "Don't you dare start crying you wimp! If you do were not going to take you to the zoo!"__

Demon bit his lip until it almost bled. Finally he said, "WE'RE GOING TO THE ZOO!"__

"Yes you idiot!" snapped Aunt Daisy.__

_"_Yay!" Demon plopped down in the nearest chair and grabbed his only present. "I wonder what it is?" He shook it but it made no noise. Uncle Very remained silent, immersed in his manga.__

At that moment, Aunt Daisy's cell phone rang. She went outside to answer it while Demon unwrapped his Twinkie. Aunt Daisy came in a few minutes later, looking excited and extremely happy.__

_"_Good news Very!" she said. "Mrs. Kumquat broke her neck. She can't take Barry in!" She smiled elatedly.__

Demon smiled with joy but Barry looked on in horror. Every year, Barry dreaded going to places with Demon and his friends. As much as Barry loved Demon, he hated being hugged by him every two minutes. He preferred to stay with Mrs. Kumquat, an elderly lady with, literally, fifty cats.__

_"_Isn't it wonderful?" Daisy gushed. Barry usually felt sympathy for Mrs. Kumquat, but this time he had a glimmer of excitement. He loved the zoo.__

_"_I cant wait until we go!" Uncle Very exclaimed.__

Demon began to shout elatedly, "I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait! I can't wait!"__

Daisy nodded. "Lets go now, then! And Barry can take your friends place!"__

_"_OK!" Demon said happily.__

Twenty minutes later, Barry couldn't believe his luck. He was sitting in the back of the car, squished between Demon and the door. He was going to the zoo for the zillionth time. He wanted to become a zoologist. His aunt and uncle loved him very much, but still, Uncle Very had taken Barry aside before they'd left. __

_"_I'm just giving you a heads up," he had said, "just a head's up, son – since you're a wizard, your powers should be showing up soon, so look out!"__

Barry rolled his eyes. "Nothing will happen; take it easy." He didn't believe Uncle Very. He never did. The thing was, the Deadlys were always warning of strange things happening to him, and it was just no good telling them that they never would, though there had been a few peculiar incidents.__

Once, Aunt Daisy, tired of Barry always keeping his hair so short, had gone out and bought him extensions, and then spent the day tediously attaching all over Barry's head, except for the front, which she kept short to 'show off his accomplishments'. Demon had endured hours of Barry's vent in silence, along with an occasional pat on the back or rueful head shake. Still, Barry spent a sleepless night dreading school the next morning, where he was usually loved for his tight clothes and emo aura. The next morning, however, he had awaken to find himself standing in front of the mirror, scissors in hand, extensions on the floor. When he told the Deadlys, they had breathily announced that he was a wizard, and that more powers would show up soon. Barry still didn't believe them, though he himself had no logical explanation.__

Another time, Aunt Daisy had been trying to get him to wear some 'not black' clothes, meaning that he hated them (a designer suit in—UGH—brown). The harder she tried to pull it on him, the bigger it became, until it took up half the room, but certainly wouldn't fit little Barry. Daisy had decided that she must have spilled Miracle grow on it, and, to his great relief, Barry wasn't accused of wizardry.__

On the other hand, Barry had been bombarded with 'The Theory' for being found underneath the floorboards of the school kitchens. Demon and his friend Pierce had been chasing him trying to hug him, as usual, when, to Barry's complete and utter shock, there he was pounding on the ceiling, er, floor. The Deadlys had received a very excited note from Barry's headmistress telling them that Barry simply must show her how he'd done the trick. But all he'd tried to do (as he'd tried to make heard over the shouts of 'It's your powers!") was duck, so that when Demon jumped at him, he would sail over. Barry supposed that he must have tripped and fallen in a hole too small for Demon.__

But today, there was a special kind of anticipation in the air—something was going to go wrong. It was strong enough to make Barry wish that, instead of sitting with Demon in the car, he was somewhere else, like school, his bedroom, or Mrs. Kumquat's Febreeze-smelling kitchen.__

While he drove, Uncle Very complimented to Daisy. He liked to compliment things: people at work, Barry, the council, Barry, the bank, and Barry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorized scooters.__

_"_Amazing piece of machinery, almost as good as guns," he said as he gunned the Ferrari to pass one.__

_"_I had a nightmare about one," Barry said, shuddering. "It was flying."__

Uncle Very crashed into the car in front of him and stopped the car. He turned, and Demon looked at him with excited, gleaming eyes, his hands clasped below his chin. "That's how you came here!" he practically screeched. "Yes! You remember!"__

Demon threw his arms around Barry. Barry squirmed away.__

_"_That's not true," he said, "I came with the towing company that towed my parents' car after they crashed and died."__

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If it was one thing the Deadlys loved even more then asking questions (and Barry) it was the night he came there—they seemed to think it was with a rock star on a flying scooter—ha!__

It was a dull Sunday and the zoo was practically a ghost town. A chill ran through the air, and Barry thought he heard moaning sounds in the distance. Today was going to be awesome. The Deadlys bought Barry a triple ice cream scoop and Demon a pack of baby carrots (and a Twinkie). They watched a snake in the reptile house trying in vain to break out for a while, and then moved on.__

Barry had the best day he'd had in a long time. He was careful to link arms with Demon so that he wouldn't cry from separation anxiety. They didn't eat all day after the ice cream (which was good for Barry—he wanted to stay small), and when Demon started to get emotional, Daisy slapped him across the face, which quieted him for ten some minutes.__

Barry knew, still that it was too good to last. __

After visiting the parrots, they went to see the Capybara's- giant rodents. It was outside, under the warm sun. Sitting and walking inside the giant fence was a pack over-grown guinea pigs. Demon squealed and pointed at one of the mothers licking her child. He quickly switched his interest to the biggest Capybara- a huge one with quite a few scars for some odd reason. Demon was disappointed though. It was fast asleep.__

He began to cry. "I want it to move! Why can't it move! It's such a meanie-pants!"__

Aunt Daisy hit him, yet again. "How many times have I said to stop being a wimp!"__

_"_A hundred..."__

_"_And have you?"__

_"_No..."__

_"_Well, listen to me! BE A MAN!"__

Aunt Daisy's yelling had woken up the giant Capybara. It stretched and seemed to stare right at Barry and the Deadlys. __

_"_It's awake!" Surprisingly, Uncle Very had said that. Weird right? Though the Capybara still wasn't doing anything. Just standing there, staring at the quartet. __

_"_Why won't it do anything?" Demon complained, then perked up at something. "Barry! Your a wizard! Do something magical to it!"__

_"_I'm not a wizard..." Barry muttered but, alas, the Deadlys were much to excited to listen to him.__

_"_Yeah Barry!"__

_"_Use magic Barry!"__

_"_I love you Barry!" Everyone looked at Demon who blushed.__

_"_I'm not doing anything." Barry said, embarrassed. "Let's go." The Deadlys sighed and began to walk away. Out of no where, a little girl screamed:__

_"_Why is da Cabybara in a hamfter ball!"__

Suddenly Demon squealed and grabbed Barry's hands. "You did it! You did it!" He chanted that over and over again while bouncing up and down, making the ground shake a bit.__

Barry blinked and looked at the Capybara. It was indeed in a clear hamster ball. It seemed to be enjoying itself, rolling around and such. It gave a grateful glance at Barry and he seemed to know he was being thanked.__

_"_Your powers showed up! It's time to celebrate!" He grabbed Barry and Daisy's hands and began to run to the car. Demon tried to follow but saw a shiny penny and got left behind. At home, Barry was given cakes and cookies. Uncle Very looked like he was going to have a heart attack from all the excitement.

As Barry got ready for bed he felt like he could throw up. His aunt and uncle had given so much food. More then was probably healthy.

He'd lived with the Deadlys almost ten years. Ten long, slightly miserable, and definitely extravagant years. Ever since his parents had died in that car crash. Though he couldn't remember ever being in a car crash. He couldn't even remember being in a car! Sometimes at night he dreams (And nightmares) of flying scooters, hair and a bolt of pink light. When he woke up, his heart-shaped scar was always hurt. He never put much thought into it. He was never one to believe dreams could tell you about the past or future. He thought he knew his parents well though. Aunt Daisy sang praise of them night and day. There weren't many photos but there were a few at least.

Frequently he wished an unknown relative, or a family friend, or someone they knew that had belonged to a secret society would come and whisk him away. Though sadly, that had never happened. Though, twice, random strangers had walked up to him. A woman in a neon green smock had hugged him before running away. He never told Aunt Daisy about that (he had been shopping with her). Another time, a man with purple hair had shaken his hand and said it was nice to meet Barry Smotter. It was quite odd. Even odder, when he tried to follow them, they disappeared!

At school, there was no one. There might have been someone, but, Barry wasn't the most social. People just didn't want to be close to the weird Barry Smotter.

_A/N Sorry for these taking so long. We needed to finish school and all that. There should be more real soon! :)_


	3. Letters From Someone From School FarAway

_A/N: We do not own Harry Potter or any characters/similarities/aspects/anything else. This is merely a Fanfic for fun. No copyright violation intended or aware of. The story takes place in an alternate dimension of Sydney, Australia.(Don't ask why)_

~Chapter 3~  
>Letters from Someone From A School Far Away <p>

The encasing of the giant Capybara earned Barry his biggest-ever celebration. By the time it was over, they had celebrated every day up until the summer holidays had started and Demon had already given his video camera and remote control airplane to Barry, and, first time out on his bicycle, Mrs. Kumquat had pushed him off and taken the bike.

Barry was sad that school was over; this meant no escaping Demon's gang. Pierce, Dentist, Malnutrition, and Gourdon were all Barry lovers, but Demon was the biggest Barry lover of the lot, and the leader. The rest of them were all happy to join in Demon's favorite sport: Barry Hugging.

This was why Barry usually stayed in the house, all doors locked, thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, he would be going off to tertiary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Demon. Demon had been accepted at Uncle Very's old private school, Smellies. Pierce Polekiss was going there too. Barry, on the other hand, was going to Brickwall High, the local private school. Demon thought that this was devastating.

"They hug newcomers at Brickwall," he told Barry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?"

"No thanks," said Barry. "Being too close to you might make me sick." Seeing that Demon was about to cry, Barry ran off.

One day in early July, Aunt Daisy took Demon out to buy his new uniform. Barry was left to sit in Mrs. Kumquat's Febreeze-scented kitchen. It really wasn't that bad. Clumsy ol' Mrs. Kumquat had fallen of the bike she had taken and had broken both her arms. By the time Barry left, he had enough cat hair on him to make a cat hair sweater.

That evening, Demon was sitting in the living room crying his eyes out and eating a tub of chocolate ice cream. He was in the Smellies uniform: sky blue gym shorts, a hot pink muscle shirt, and a neon yellow baseball cap. His crying was ruining the effect of the colors though.

As he looked at Demon acting like a teenage girl on a drama series, Uncle Very began to cry himself... at how pitiful the whole scene looked. Aunt Daisy whacked Demon upside the head and told him to stop being such a wimp. Barry didn't trust himself to speak. If he had human emotions, he might have cried; he would miss Demon too.

There was an unpleasant smell the next morning when Barry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large plastic bin in the sink. He went to have a look. It was full of a huge pile of what looked to be fine black cloth.

"What's this?" he asked Aunt Daisy. She smiled patronizingly at him.

"Your new school uniform."

"Yay!" he said. "What're you doing to it?"

"It only came in white," said Aunt Daisy. "I'm dying it black for you. But don't worry, it'll smell nice once I put it through the wash."

Barry was happy with this answer. He sat on the kitchen counter and watched Aunt Daisy dye it. He had been worrying about how he would look at Brickwall, but now he was put at ease- he would still be in black.

Demon and Uncle Very came in, both with red eyes and noses from last night's cry. Uncle Very opened his manga as usual and Demon sank heavily into one of the chairs at the table.

They heard the mail slot being slammed open and the whooshing sound of letters spreading on the tile.

"Get the mail, Barry," said Uncle Very from behind his manga.

"Make Demon get it."

"Get the mail, Demon."

"Make Barry get it," Demon said, angry about Barry's leaving him.

"Slap him, Barry."

"Getting it!"

Demon dodged Barry's swing and ran for the mail. There was only one thing there when Demon brought the mail to the table- a letter for Barry.

Barry lazily picked it up, bored. He got mail all the time from the kids at school, inviting him to parties he never went to. When he did go, everyone was too scared to approach him, anyway. Whose party would it be this time? It was addressed:

Mr. B. Smotter  
>The Largest Bedroom in the House<br>13 Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
>Big Whining<br>Sydney

The envelope was so light, Barry thought that the person may have forgotten the letter, made of crisp white paper, and the address was typed in a boring black font. There was a large stamp with only question marks on it.

Turning it over, he saw something strange; an ugly green-brown wax seal bearing a coat of arms: a tiger, a pigeon, a poodle, and a jersey devil surrounding a large H.

"Hurry up, son!" shouted Uncle Very excitedly. "What are you waiting for? This may have to do with your wizardry!" He leaned forward across the table, looming over Barry.

Barry leaned away from Uncle Very. He put his feet up on the table, causing his Uncle to lean back a bit, and carelessly tore open the letter.

Uncle Very was bouncing up and down in his chair, and even Demon seemed to be pulling out of his anti-Barry reverie to look over in interest.

"Hurry!" Uncle Very shouted again, and all eyes were trained on him as Aunt Daisy ran to look over Barry's shoulder, too.

"Dad!" said Demon suddenly. "Dad, I can't see the letter!"

Demon was attempting to look at the envelope, but he was late in congregating around Barry and was trying to squeeze in next to Aunt Daisy when Aunt Daisy pushed him away, and, annoyed with Barry's slowly opening the letter, Uncle Very snatched it from him.

"Read it aloud, at least!" Barry said, leaning back in his chair.

"I want to know what it says! If it's another of your parties, I want to know if I'm invited, too!" Uncle Very exclaimed, neatly spreading the letter on the table. Everyone leaned in to see it and bonked heads. Very looked intently at the letter. His face went from confusion to surprise faster than Barry could blink. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was an enormous grin.

"D-D-Daisy!" he gasped.

Demon climbed atop the table to try and read it, but Very held it behind his back. Daisy ran around the table surprisingly quickly and took it, grinning. She read the entire letter through whilst Demon contemplated how to get down from the table. She looked as though she might faint. She made an involuntary squeal of joy.

"Very! Oh my goodness- Very!"

They beamed at each other, then turned their gaze to Barry. Barry was used to the attention, but this was getting to be too much. Fortunately, Demon came to his rescue, sliding down from the table and crashing through the floor to the basement.

"Dearest mother and father, may I read the letter?" he quietly asked, looking up through the hole in the floor with a smile that was plainly meant to be angelic, but just looked stupid.

"No! I get to read it! It's mine!"

"Barry, go get some chocolate from the fridge. Demon, go grab the laundry from upstairs," Uncle Very put in, the first fondly and the second sternly. Aunt Daisy seemed about to cry with joy, smiling at the floor and shaking her head in disbelief.

Barry took a few steps, then stopped.

By now, Demon had climbed back up the stairs and was back in the kitchen.

"But I wanted to read it," Barry whined.

"Why aren't I allowed to?" said Demon angrily.

"Go, please," Very said, still smiling, and beckoned for them to follow him. He took the both of them into the next room and closed the door. Demon eagerly put his ear to the keyhole, but Barry pushed him down, and, with Demon moaning on the floor, listened to his relatives talking.

"Very," Daisy was saying in a voice quivering with excitement, "look at the address- they know what rooms we sleep in, too! Do you think there could be some in the house?" This was followed by what sounded like cupboards and drawers opening and closing.

"Yes! Watching, following, protecting us!" Uncle Very shouted elatedly.

"What do we do next, Very? Are we supposed to write back? Call their help number? Ask them how Barry can get there?"

"I don't know. Celebrate?" Barry could see his relations cabbage patching around the kitchen through the keyhole.

"No," Very said breathily when they had finished their cabbage patch, a samba, and a tango. "No, we'll wait. If they don't get an answer, they'll send instructions... Yes, that's best... They'll know we need help..."

"But-"

"They'll come, don't you worry, Daisy! Didn't we swear when we took him in that we'd help him get through this huge event?"

That evening, when he got back from work, Uncle Very did the usual; he visited Barry in his room.

"So, what was with that letter?" asked Barry about halfway through their conversation. "Who wrote it?"

"Oh, that. It was from a few wizards from a wizarding school," said Uncle Very happily. "I have framed it."

"Wizards?" Barry questioned skeptically. How stupid did they think him to be? "Then it must have been a mistake," he said mockingly.

"NO! IT WAS FOR YOU!" insisted Uncle Very, and a piece of plaster fell from the ceiling and hit him on the head. He took a few shallow breaths and tried to move his face out of the smile he had on, but couldn't.

"Er- yes, Barry- about this room. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're a bit too small for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Demon's room, and he would occupy the cupboard under the stairs."

"What? Why?" demanded Barry.

"We want to see if the wizards really know where we live," said his uncle as Barry rolled his eyes. "I'll take this stuff upstairs for you now."

The Deadlys' house had three bedrooms: one for Uncle Very and Aunt Daisy, one for Barry, and one for Demon (extra small). It took Uncle Very eleven trips to move just half of Barry's things into the new room. Barry sat down on the floor in the little spot that wasn't occupied by his possessions and looked around. Everything was cleaned. Demon's things were still in a corner. The Twinkie pile was covering a small, working tank that the neighbor's dog had ripped apart (to which Demon cried); farther into the corner was Demon's first-ever, recently received television set. Very had put his foot through this when Oprah had been canceled; there was a tiny bird cage, that had once held a yellow parakeet with a white chest until Very had mistaken it for a Twinkie and eaten it, whose picture was up on a shelf with wet spots where Demon's tears had stained the page. Also in the pile were a few luxurious toys that Demon was probably planning to give to Barry. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came the sound of Demon bawling at his mother, "I need to get my parakeet picture... I need it... let me back upstairs..."

Barry smiled and started to lean back until he hit his own toy pile. Yesterday, he wouldn't've moved here for the world, especially not without seeing the mysterious letter (he still wanted to know whose party it was), but at least today it was keeping Demon away from him.

Next morning at breakfast, it was quite loud. Demon was still sobbing while looking down at a drawing he'd made of his late bird. He'd screamed, whacked himself with a metal rod, thrown up unexpectedly, kicked himself, and threatened to eat the tortoise that lived in the greenhouse, and they still wouldn't let him upstairs. Barry was thinking about this time yesterday and wishing that he could figure out where they had framed the letter so that he could see it. Uncle Very and Aunt Daisy kept shooting smiling looks at each other that said that they knew something Barry didn't.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Very, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Demon for once, made Barry go and get it. Barry could hear Demon's sobs from down the hall. When he picked up the mail, he impulsively shouted, "There's another one! Mr. B. Smotter, The Smallest Bedroom, 13 Boulevard of Broken Dreams-"

With an elated whoop, Uncle Very leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Demon right behind him. Uncle Very had to punch Demon in the face and rip up his parakeet picture to keep him from running in front, which was made difficult because Demon was hugging Barry's legs and wouldn't let go. After a moment of confused fighting, in which they all collapsed atop each other as the shredded picture's remnants rained down upon them, Uncle Very wormed his way out of the bottom with Barry's letter in his mouth like a dog with a newspaper.

"Go to your bedroom- I mean, Demon's bedroom," he said gently, to which Demon cried harder. "Demon- to the cupboard- and remind me to lock it from the outside."

Demon didn't seem to hear.

Barry walked round and round the small clear spot in his- er, Demon's- room until there was a small rut in the floor. Someone knew that he had moved out of his original room and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Was he being stalked? If so, surely they'd try and send him the invite again, wouldn't they? They must've really wanted him at their party. And this time he'd make sure they didn't miss the chance to be crushed by his denial. He didn't really have a plan, but he knew that he would think of one.

The shiny chrome alarm clock rang at six o'clock in the morning. Barry groaned and pressed snooze, then reminded himself to get up and turned off the alarm clock, fumbling around the room in a search for clothes. The Deadlys would wake any second now, so he rocketed downstairs like a silent bullet. He had forgotten to turn on the lights, though, and rammed his face into the wall downstairs.

He was going to jump in front of the postman's car on the corner of Boulevard of Broken Dreams and force him to stop so that he could get the letters first. His head throbbed as he ran through the halls toward the grand front doors- Barry randomly was crushed by something strange and bony covered in something soft- something alive! He ambled around for lights and to his horror realized that the bony, cushy thing had been his uncle wrapped in a forest green sleeping bag, brandishing a rope that he held tightly in his hand. Uncle Very had been tied in a sleeping bag by a rope to the ceiling, clearly trying to get at the letters to read them first. Barry shouted at him for about half an hour, and then made Aunt Daisy make him a cup of tea. He shuffled miserably off to watch her, and by the time he got back, his uncle had re-rigged himself and dropped onto the newly arrived mail.

Barry could see three letters addressed in heavy black type held in Uncle Very's hands.

"I want-" he began, but Uncle Very was stuffing them into his pockets before his eyes. He didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home, hovering above the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Daisy through a mouthful of Twinkies she had handed up to him, "if we receive all of them but don't reply, they'll realize that we need their guidance."

"I'm not sure that'll work, Very."

"Oh, these peoples' minds work in the same way as ours, Daisy, they're just like you and me," said Uncle Very, dropping himself onto Demon as he walked by (he had mistaken him for a new letter delivery). Demon started crying.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Barry. Very had dropped down on top of them and stashed them in his sleeping bag as well as clothes, which was unfortunate for Demon, who was too large to get up and was consequentially squashed by Very each time, and the letters were delivered individually.

Uncle Very stayed home again. After framing all the letters (Barry was starting to wonder where he was getting all of the frames), he got out a hammer and nails, nailed the mail slot open, and wouldn't let anyone out for fear of missing a delivery. He hummed "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga as he waited, and dropped himself down at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Barry found their way into the mansion, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen Twinkies that their very confused grocery dealer handed the hanging Uncle Very on call through the mail slot. While Aunt Daisy made furious phone calls to the post office for not delivering their letters back for cause of no return address, Uncle Very ordered a constant flow of Twinkies and read the letters, which he still wouldn't let Barry read (he said that he wanted Barry to be surprised).

"Who on Earth is having this big a party?" Demon asked Barry in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Very trudged to the breakfast table, looking fit and rather full, but sad.

"No post on Sundays," he reminded them despairingly as he took out some more Twinkies, "no darned awesome letters from wizards today-" Something came whizzing from nowhere as he looked up and fell into his agape mouth. Next moment, a few hundred letters rained down from nowhere, so thickly that they couldn't speak without getting a mouthful of paper. Barry ducked instinctively and Demon screamed, but the other Deadlys leapt into the air trying to catch one.

"Yes! YES!" Uncle Very seized Barry around the waist and spun him in circle, but lost his grip and accidentally threw Barry into the hall. He quickly followed, arms outstretched, and closed the door behind him.

Once Aunt Daisy had used Demon to break through the closed door and ran out huffing and puffing, Uncle Very collapsed onto the floor. They could hear the letters streaming into the room, and they could see them threatening to spill into theirs through the Demon shaped hole in the door.

"All of the Twinkies were in there! That does it," said Uncle Very, trying to speak calmly but rubbing his unibrow furiously at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going to try and find that wizarding school. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" He looked so funny with his unibrow bright red that everyone just turned away so that he wouldn't see them laughing. Ten minutes later, they had exited the doors and were in the Ferrari, speeding toward the highway.

They drove. And they drove. Even Uncle Very didn't know where they were going, or wouldn't say. Every now and then he would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Follow the cats... follow the cats..." he would mutter whenever he did this.

They ate the emergency Twinkies in the car on the way there. By nightfall, Demon was delighted. He had never eaten so many Twinkies in his life. Five, ten, twenty... his record was only seventeen.

Uncle Very stopped at last outside a cheery-looking hotel on the outskirts of a small town. Demon and Barry, much to Barry's horror, shared a room with only twin beds and bright, colorful sheets and comforters. Demon was scared of being so far from home, though, and sobbed throughout the night on the windowsill in his footsie pajamas. Barry fell asleep quickly, exhausted, but wondering...

They had fresh cornflakes and tomatoes with buttered toast brought to their room the next morning. They had just finished when the hotel's manager came in and over to the table in their small place.

"Hey, is one of you Mr. B. Smotter? I got about four hundred of these at the front desk... it was quite the overload, so I'm sorry, but you'll have to pay a fine..." She held up a letter so they could read the black type address: Mr. B. Smotter, Room 1000007, Streetsee Hotel, Popsworth. Barry made a grab for the letter, but Uncle Very jumped in front of him and landed on the woman. She looked appalled as he stood up.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Very, dishing out a dime as the payment and running in front of her and out of the room.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to look up the address on Google Maps, dear?" Aunt Daisy suggested boldly, hours later, but Uncle Very didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He followed a cat into the middle of a desert, got out, licked the ground, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a tundra biome, halfway across a beach, and in the depths of an abandoned area of the subway.

"Daddy's close to finding it, isn't he?" Demon asked Aunt Daisy hopefully late that afternoon. Uncle Very had parked at the edge of a cliff, jammed the locks with Twinkies, and disappeared.

It started to hail. Great chunks of ice beat on the roof of the car. Demon burst into tears.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "Dad and I were going to go to the opera in Sydney tonight. I want to go to the opera! And I want my canary picture."

Monday. This reminded Barry of something. If it was Monday- and you could usually count on Demon to know the days of the week, because of the opera- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Barry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were usually fun- last year, the Deadlys had given him three cakes and a new Wii.

Still, someone had to turn eleven each day.

Uncle Very was back, and he was smiling. He was also carrying a longish, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Daisy when she asked what he'd bought.

"I think I'm close!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"

It was very hot outside the car. Uncle Very was pointing at the bottom of the slope of the cliff they were standing upon. There looked to be a large island way out at the sea. Perched atop the island was nothing but a large, luxurious house that resembled an abandoned five star hotel. One thing was certain, there were no opera singers there, except maybe a ghost of one, and it was still hailing.

"Tornado forecast for tonight!" Uncle Very said, leaning in and whispering, "Now the wizards will be forced to save us!" He raised his voice. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his speedboat!" A business like young man in a suit with a mustache came strutting up to them, pointing with an expressionless face at a shiny pink speedboat bobbing in the turquoise water beneath it.

"I've already got some Twinkies for us," said Uncle Very, "so hop on!" It was crowded on the boat. Demon sat atop Aunt Daisy, who sat atop Uncle Very, who sat behind Barry, who they had delegated the job of driving. After what seemed like twenty crashes, they reached the island. Uncle Very cheerfully led the way to the deserted hotel with a mixture of running and skipping.

The inside was beautiful; it smelled strongly of flowers, the sturdy plaster walls kept out the mild wind, and the fireplace crackled merrily. There were two whole floors of rooms.

Uncle Very's rations turned out to be ten Twinkies each and two more emergency boxes. He added the empty boxes and wrappers to the dwindling fire, but it still wouldn't last much longer.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said sadly.

He was in a terrible mood. Obviously, he now had realized that nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a tornado to rescue them. Barry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised tornado blew up around them. Faces eagerly pressed to the window, they could see low waves lapping at the first story from the second floor room they were in and a hard wind could be seen swaying the palms outside.

Aunt Daisy found a few thick blankets on the first story, which they moved down to in order to watch the storm better, and made up a bed for Very and herself on the cushy sofa. Barry went to rest on a huge bed that they pulled into the lobby for him, and Demon was left to the hardest bit of floor and curled up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm didn't seem to lessen as the night went on. Barry couldn't sleep. He sighed and turned over, not that it was any more comfortable, his belly bursting with the weight of many Twinkies. Demon's sobs and sniffles were drowned by the loud booms of thunder that had already begun. The lighted dial of Barry's expensive, high-tech watch, which was lying on the floor near Demon's fat hand, told Barry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, cringing at the thought of his celebration with the Deadlys, wondering whose party it was and if it may have been for him.

Five minutes to go.

"Very, stop that nonsense right now!" Daisy's voice called. Barry looked over and saw that what Very had bought had been a strangely shaped twig, and he was now waving it around, calling, "Maybe if I do this, the wizards will think I'm one of them! I think I might be able to summon them!"

Four minutes to go. Maybe when he got back, the party would be at his house. Barry heard something creak outside. It was probably just a tree, or the pipes.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, making the rocks on the ground clap together? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny stepping noise? Was the house haunted?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds… twenty… ten… nine— maybe he'd scream 'GHOST!', just to scare Demon—three… two… one…

Knock, knock.

Demon screamed. The door was pulsating slightly as Barry sat bolt upright, staring at it. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

_A/N Sorry for this being so late again! Its been written but I keep forgetting to put it up. Heheh..._


	4. The Segway Man

_A/N: We do not own Harry Potter or any characters/similarities/aspects/anything else. This is merely a Fanfic for fun. No copyright violation intended or aware of. The story takes place in an alternate dimension of Sydney, Australia.(Don't ask why)_

~Chapter 4~  
>The Segway Man<p>

Knock, knock. They knocked again. Demon screamed another time. "Don't let the ghost in!" he shouted.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Very came running straight into the door. "I knew it would work! I told you, Daisy!" he was shouting. He put the stick down on the table near the door.  
>"Who's there?" he asked in a sing-song voice. "Are you a wizard? If you are, prove it with a spell!"<p>

There was a pause. Then—

"Open!"

The door was hit with such force that it fell right out of the cut out and landed on the floor.  
>A midget of a man was standing in the doorway in a karate kick position. Uncle Very shouted, "You are a wizard! You opened the door without even touching the knob!" The man had tons of long, shaggy hair with a guitar head and neck poking out poking out from within and a wild, tangled beard. All of it reached the floor. He wore only leather, down to his boots, and dark shades with red rims shaped like stars. "You're just how I imagined a wizard would look!" Uncle Very shouted as the man came out of his karate pose.<p>

He strutted his way into the hotel, hands up as if he was being mobbed. He took out something that looked like a guitar, but indistinct in the dark, from within the reaches of his hair and shouted, "Repair!" as he pointed the item at the door. Then he pushed the door back into its frame and dusted his hands off as they stared open mouthed at him. He turned to look at them all.

"Hey, man, could yah dig up some hot chocolate from somewhere?" he asked Very. "It's, like, been a bumpy ride."

He swaggered over to the sofa where Demon was screaming then stopping repeatedly.  
>"Hey, dude, don't hog—that's not cool," said the stranger.<p>

Demon screamed even louder and passed out, falling off of the couch and rolling toward his mother, who was crying tears of joy quite loudly as she looked upon the scene of Barry staring, astonished, at the small man on the couch, Demon eagle-sprawled on the floor, and Very sitting in front of the entryway.

"Barry, dude!" said the midget.

Barry looked down into the man's face and saw that it was stretched into a wide smile that showcased a set of gleaming white teeth.

"The last time I saw you, you were like, smaller than me," he said. "You look totally like your old man, but your eyes are, like, exactly the same as your mom's."

Uncle Very made a funny squealing noise.

"I can't believe that you're really here!" he said. "Barry, I'm so proud of you!"

"Well, today isn't one of my autograph signing days, but I guess I can make one tiny exception," said the midget; he walked over to the table, picked up the twig, pulled out a pen from his beard, and made a quick scribble on it, handing it to a stunned Very.

Very had a giant smile plastered onto his face, and Daisy had one hand over her mouth as she fanned herself with the other.

"Anyways— Barry!" the stranger said, turning his back on the pair, "happy double ones! Got a pres for yah here—it was in my beard, but it'll be totally awesome anyway."

From deep within his beard he pulled a slightly hairy box. Barry eagerly threw the top open. Inside was a huge, rich looking chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday, Man!' written on it in pink icing.  
>Barry looked down at the man. He meant to say yummy, but the words got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who on Earth are you?"<p>

The small man bellowed with laughter as he slapped Barry's back.

"Yah don't know who I am? It's cool, bro—Ruby Hairgrid, Segway Man and active environmentalist at the one and only Hogwarts."

He held out his hand and knuckle bumped Barry.

"What's with that hot choco then, dudes?" he said as he circled Barry while air guitar-ing. "I'd be okay with marshmallows too if yah got 'em."

His eyes fell on the dying fire and he stopped moving and snorted. He bent down and took out a lighter, also from his beard. A moment later, there was a giant bonfire roaring. One of its reaching flames caught on the passed-out form of Demon's clothes and the man stamped on him until it went out. Demon moaned a bit and stirred awake, saw the man, and began screaming again.

The midget sat back down on the sofa, which didn't even sink under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of his beard—mugs, a box of hot chocolate mix, a pack of marshmallows, a small battery operated microwave, and a pack of Carnation liquid breakfasts—all the while muttering about having to do everything yourself. Soon the lobby was filled with the sound and smell of milkshakes and hot chocolate in the make. Nobody said a thing while the man worked, except for Demon's screams and Daisy's sobs, but as he poured the first few hot chocolates, Demon became silent. Uncle Very said kindly, "Go on, have some."

The stranger laughed heartily and handed Demon a steaming mug that smelled delightful.  
>"Here you go, man. There's enough for ev'ryone here, so don't you dudes worry."<p>

He passed another mug to Barry, who was suddenly so hungry that he ate the cake with it and even was feeling so good that he shared some with the others, but he still couldn't keep his eyes off the midget. Finally, as no one was talking as they sipped and chewed, stomachs bursting with contentment, Barry interrupted the silence, saying, "So, anyone gonna explain who this guy is?" He gestured with his thumb at the stranger, who was now lying on his back on the couch and sipping hot chocolate upside down with his eyes closed.

He took a long drag of a Carnation drink and sighed contentedly.

"Call me Hairgrid," he said, "ev'ryone does, man. And I said that I was an environmentalist and Segway guy at Hogwarts—course, you know all about that hang out, right dude?"

"What? No, I don't," said Barry.

Hairgrid looked stunned.

"What?" Barry questioned.

"What's up with that?" asked Hairgrid, turning to look at the Deadlys. "Why didn't you guys tell him? I mean, didn't you read the letter and stuff? Where did yah think your folks learned it all at?"

"Wait… huh?" Barry was completely lost now.

"Wait, wait, hold up, dude." Hairgrid seemed lost, too.

"Are you guys sayin'," he asked, getting up from the couch, "That B-man over here—this one—doesn't know about… well, anything?"

"We wanted to keep it a secret so he would be surprised… We told him he was one, though," Very defended.

"Well, I guess that's better than nothing, but seriously," the man continued, "I mean more. About us. Our world. Yours. Your old folks' world."

"What are you talking about?"

"DUDES!" he shouted, stomping one of his tiny feet.

Uncle Very looked a bit afraid now. Hairgrid looked back at Barry.

"But, you know about your mom and dad, right?" he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous, man."

"Sweet! I'm famous? Wait, what?"

"You don't even know? Seriously?" Hairgrid was staring almost rudely at Barry now.

"You don't know… what you are?" he asked finally.

"I know I'm a boy!" Barry exclaimed indignantly.

"No, I mean—"

Uncle Very suddenly un-froze.

"Stop!" he shouted desperately. "We wanted to be the ones to tell him!"

"Then why didn't you? Didn't he even read the letter Mumble-man left for him? I saw it being left. I would know. I was there! I even brought a Segway!"

"Wait— I don't even know what we're even talking about!" Barry exclaimed.

"Stop! I'll say it!" yelled Uncle Very in panic.

Aunt Daisy gasped and stopped crying, breath catching in the heat of the moment.

"Ah, whatever," said Hairgrid. Together, he and Uncle Very said, "Barry—you're a wizard!"

There was silence as Barry cocked his head to one side. Then he said, "You've all gone mad."

"No, it's true," said Hairgrid, sitting back on the sofa in a backwards jump. "And I'm sure you'll be a great one once you go through Hogwarts, bro. With parents like yours, though, maybe you'll just be good… No, I see promise in those eyes!"

"I'm wearing contacts," Barry put in meekly.

"I see past the contacts. And I think it's time that a certain dude read his letter."

Barry got up and plopped down on the couch next to him, torn between disappointment that there was no party and excitement that he was a wizard, which was still hard to believe. He took the bright-looking envelope, addressed in black type to Mr. B. Smotter, The Large Bed, Abandoned Hotel, The Sea. He pulled out the letter and read aloud as Demon, Daisy, and Very crowded round:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
>Headmaster: BABBLE MUMBLEMORE<br>(Order of Berlin, Third Class, Grande Sorc., Chf. Spell Cstr., Supreme Mudbump, National Assoc. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Smotter,

We are somewhat entertained to inform you that you have been accepted (not that we actually had a choice) at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find enclosed a list of all necessary expensive books and equipment likely to break you.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl or flying squirrel by no later than July 31, so hurry and good luck!

Yours sincerely,  
>Minute McMonomial<br>Deputy Headmistress

What the heck? thought Barry confusedly. "Wait—so you were telling the truth all these years?" Barry asked his family. Daisy went back to crying as they all nodded. "But wait—I don't have an owl. Or a flying squirrel," he went on.

"Oh, yeah, man, almost forgot," said Hairgrid, reaching into his beard yet again and pulling out an angry-looking, jet black squirrel, a blue sparkly pencil, and a pad of rock-themed sticky notes in pink and red. He sat beside Demon, placed the pad on his head, and wrote on one:

Dear Professor Mumblemore,

Given Barry his letter.  
>Taking him to blow some cash at Horizont tomorrow.<br>It's beautiful out. Hope you're hitting some great parties!

Hairgrid

Hairgrid then pressed the note firmly to the squirrel's head, went to the door, opened it, and threw it out, shouting, "Be free! Come back soon!" Then he came back, a bit teary-eyed, and sat down again.

"Awesome!" Barry exclaimed.

"Where was I?" Hairgrid asked, sniffling.

Uncle Very stood. "I'm coming with you, " he proudly announced.

Hairgrid looked over his sunglasses at him. "I'd like to see a Muggle like you try, man," he said.  
>"A what?" Barry asked, snorting at the funny word.<p>

"A Muggle," said Hairgrid. "It's what we call nonmagic folk like them. And it's your luck that you didn't grow up in a family of strongly Muggle-ish Muggles."

"Well," Very said, clearly enjoying the compliment, "we swore when we took him in that we'd help him through this time and difficult but wonderful journey! Wizards for the win!"

"Why didn't you tell me more?" asked Barry. "You knew I was a- a wizard."

"Knew!" Aunt Daisy shouted through her joyful sobs. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, dear sissy being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that school and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was— wonderful! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was never Edelweiss, they never cared, they hated having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to sob and then went ranting on. It seemed as if she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Smotter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be the same, just as great, just as—as—wonderful—and then, if you please, she went and the poor dear was blown up by that evil wizard and we got to have you, but still, she was gone!"

Barry had gone very still. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? I thought that they'd died in a car crash or something! Or were eaten by an alligator!"

"Car crash?" Hairgrid snorted, hopping off the couch again and throwing his arms up in the air. "How could a gator or a car crash kill Edelweiss and Lames Smotter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Barry Smotter not believing his own story when everyone in our world has a poster of his face hanging on their wall!"

"But why? Was what the Deadlys told me true? They said it kinda fast though, so could you explain it to me? Slowly?"

"Whoa, man," Hairgrid said in an astonished voice, putting his hands in his pockets. "This is heavy. I had no idea, when Mumblemore told me there might be trouble convincing yah, how much yah didn't know. Ah, bro, I dunno if I'm the right person to tell yah—but someone's gotta—yah can't just not know why…. How… Well it's best I tell yah ev'rythin', dude, though even I don't know parts of it… But, here goes." He took a deep breath. "It starts, I guess with this dude ev'ryone knows—well, you don't—but I do—but I guess you should—but—"

"Who?" Barry interrupted.

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't like saying it. No one does. Well, Babble does. And McMonomial at times. But sometimes—"

"Why not?" Barry yelled again. He hadn't realized what a bad storyteller Hairgrid was.

"Well, see, the peeps are scared. Wow, this is hard to explain. See, this wizard dude went… uncool. As uncool as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. Worse than worse than—"

"Continue!"

"All right. His name was…" Hairgrid gulped, but didn't say anything.

"Can't you just write it for me?" Barry suggested.

"Nah- sticky note prices are skyrocketing. Even more expensive with the fancy pattern. All right—Moldyshorts." Demon, who had been listening intently, screamed. Hairgrid shuddered. "don't make me say it again. Anyways, this uncool dude, about twenty years ago, started looking for followers. Got them, too— some were scared, some wanted to be powerful, cause he was, like, mad powerful, that was for sure. Scary days, B-man. Didn't know who was the good, who was the bad, didn't dare play in public concerts… terrible things went down. He was, like, taking over, dude. Course, some went against the man— and died. Well, actually, were killed. Murdered. Slaughtered. Even-"

"Will you please get on with it?" Barry didn't really feel like seeing how many synonyms of 'killed' Hairgrid could think up.

"Right. Anyways, they were killed. Horribly. Only safe place left, can you guess?"

Barry opened his mouth, but Hairgrid said, "You guessed it— Hogwarts. And I'll bet ten autographed CDs that Mumblemore's the only one Guess-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try taking the school, not just then, anyways.

"Now, your old folks were as good a witch and wizard as I was, almost. Well, maybe a bit less than that. Head boy and girl at Hogwarts! No idea how they managed that, but they were always favorites. Suppose the mystery is why Guess-Who never wanted them on his side before… probably cause they were the ones that formed the I-Hate-Guess-Who club… but whatevs. Anyways, not a soul I'm aware of knows why, but he turned up at the village that you were living in, Halloween, ten years ago. You were a little bro, just a year old…" His voice was becoming shaky. "He came to your house and—and—"

Hairgrid buried his face in the pillow that Demon had been sleeping on and blew his nose into it.  
>"Sorry, dude," he said to the pillow, patting it. "But it's sad—knew your folks, and nicer people you couldn't find, 'cept for me… and maybe Mumblemore… and I know some great fans in Iowa… but anyways…<p>

"Guess-Who killed them."

"Who?"

"Guess-Who."

"Who?"

"MOLDYSHORTS!" Hairgrid shouted.

Demon screamed again as Hairgrid curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth.

"Any who… This is the real juicy part… He tried to kill you, too." Demon screamed again.

"Will you shut up?" Hairgrid exploded. "But— " he paused dramatically and the Deadlys made a drumroll sound on their legs, "he couldn't do it. Ever been told about that sick scar you've got? That's no gator bite or airbag burst mark: that's whatchya get when a powerful, evil curse touches yah—took care of your folks, the mansion they had, even— but it didn't work on you, and that's why I've got a poster of Barry Smotter quotes up on my basement wall, man. No one had ever lived through Guess-Who's wrath, 'cept you, of course, and he'd killed some big names out there—and you were only a lil guy, and yah lived."

Something very strange was going on in Barry's mind. As Hairgrid's story ended, he saw a flash of hot pink light, and heard something, too: a squeaky, geeky, snorting laugh, one that would get him made fun of at school.

Hairgrid was watching him sadly.

"Took yah from the ruined house myself, on the man's orders. Brought yah to these guys…"

"Memories, memories," murmured Uncle Very. Barry jumped; he had almost forgotten that the Deadlys were there. Very seemed to be getting emotional, as well as the rest of them; Aunt Daisy was quietly sobbing, Demon was howling into his hands, and a few stray tears were dripping from Very's eyes.

"Now, now, Barry," Very said as if Barry was the one crying, "I accept that you're a wonderful boy- and that needs to be brought out and acknowledged- and as for all this about your parents, well, they were fantastic, no denying it, and I wish they were still here—never asked for anything, had a real love for those wizardry types—but just what I expected, they were always too nice for their own good—"

At that moment, Hairgrid leaped up and pointed his guitar at Uncle Very like a sword. He said, "They could've gotten out of anything! They weren't too nice! If you want too nice, visit Iowa!"  
>Uncle Very yelped and ran around the corner, then peeked out and back repeatedly.<p>

Barry was still in shock.

"But what happened to Mol—Guess-Who?"

"Good Qs, B-man. Disappeared. Vanished. Gone and gone. Same night he tried to kill yah. Makes your poster prices even higher. That's the biggest mystery, see, and he was getting more and more powerful— why'd he go? And where?

"Some say he died. Come, on dudes, I mean, seriously? He wasn't, I guess, human enough to die. Not wizard enough, either. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, but I don't believe it, man. Peeps on his side saw the light and converted back. Some came outta kinda trances. I don't think they could've if he really was comin' back.

"Most of us think he's still out there somewhere, but lost his powers, his mad skills, his touch, I guess you could call it. Too down in the dumps to keep on goin'. Cause something about you made him disappear, Barry. Somethin' went down that night that he hadn't thought of happenin' before—no one knows what—but somethin' about yah he found uncool, all right; and that's why you're the bomb, dude."

Hairgrid looked at Barry with jealousy and awe in his eyes, and Barry felt, though pleased and proud, like there was something missing. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his whole life being loved by Demon, Aunt Daisy, and Uncle Very. If he was really a wizard, how come people wouldn't approach him? If he'd once defeated an uncool sorcerer, why couldn't he escape Demon's Hug Barry Days the third Monday of every month?

"Hairgrid?" he asked. "Are you, like, completely sure that I'm a wizard?"

Hairgrid gave another booming laugh that seemed too big for his miniscule body.

"Of course you're a wizard! But just to be sure…" He took out a photo of Barry looking dramatically off into the distance with Barry Smotter written at the bottom in fancy pink lettering and held it up next to his face. "Yep, that's you! Haven't you ever made stuff happen? Like, when you were scared or angry?"

Barry looked into the fire's dancing flames reaching almost to his face. Now that he thought about it… every odd thing that had ever happened to him to make his Aunt and Uncle throw a celebratory house party….

Barry looked back at Hairgrid, who nodded and winked at him. He had put the picture of Barry away by now.

"See?" said Hairgrid. "Barry Smotter, not a wizard? You wait, you'll be worshipped at Hogwarts."  
>"Have I told you that I'm coming with you yet?" asked Uncle Very. "I'm sure I'll be plenty famous as well—the uncle of Barry Smotter! Wow! Even I can't wait to meet me!"<p>

"If Barry wants you to go, I won't stop you—no one can!" replied Hairgrid. "Stop Edelweiss and Lames Smotter's son from going to Hogwarts! You'd have to be mad! His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, for a change, and the little dude'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Babble Mumblem—"

"I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET THE MAGNIFICENT MAN WHO'S GOING TO TEACH HIM MAGIC!" exploded Uncle Very, jumping up and down and clapping his hands.

But he had finally gone too far. Hairgrid seized his guitar and whirled it like a lasso above his head with amazing skill and dexterity. "WILL YOU," he shouted, "PLEASE SHUT UP!"

He brought the guitar swishing down through the air to point at Demon—there was a flash of bright red light, a sound like an electric guitar, a whinny, and the next second, Demon was galloping in circles with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, neighing loudly. When he turned his back on them, Barry could see a beautiful, thick, white horse's tail poking through a hole in his trousers and braided with rainbow streamers that reached the ground. He also had a shining multi-colored horn gleaming from its place on his forehead.

Uncle Very squealed and began chanting, "How'd you do that? How'd you do that?" over and over again.

Hairgrid looked down at his guitar, which Barry could see in the light it was now emitting that it was bright red and electric. Hairgrid played a few notes, then swayed backward and forward and went into a slow tempo-ed song.

"Shoulda kept my cool," he said regretfully, "but it didn't work anyway. I guess I'm outta practice. I meant to turn him into a unicorn, but I guess he was so much like a unicorn that there wasn't much left to do."

He cast a sideways look at Barry from beneath his hair.

"It'd be, like, totally cool if yah didn't mention that to anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm— er— not supposed to do magic, yah know. I was allowed to do a bit to follow yah and get your letters to yah and stuff—one of the reasons I was so keen to take on the job—but now, most of the magic I make is in my music, dude."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic? Except for your music, I mean," asked Barry.

"Oh, man, well—I was at Hogwarts, but I— er— got expelled, to be honest. In the third year. They snapped my first guitar in half and everything— for a girl, man does McMonomial have a grip! But Mumblemore let me stay on campus as a Segway man slash environmentalist type guy. Great man, Mumblemore; bit of a pushover, though…."

"Why were you expelled?" Barry inquired.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots to do tomorrow," Hairgrid said loudly, increasing the volume of his song. "Gotta get up to town, get all your books and stuff, dude."

He took off his tiny leather jacket and threw it to Barry, who could see that it was 100% real leather from the tag, and it was autographed inside.

"You can keep that," Hairgrid said. "No charge. I've got at least thirty more back home. And don't mind if music starts playing in it. I think I've still got my I-Pod in one of the pockets."


	5. Horizont Alley

_A/N: We do not own Harry Potter or any characters/similarities/aspects/anything else. This is merely a Fanfic for fun. No copyright violation intended or aware of. The story takes place in an alternate dimension of Sydney, Australia.(Don't ask why) _

_Sorry for this being... really really long.  
><em>

~Chapter Five~

Horizont Alley

Barry woke late the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

It was a dream, he told himself firmly. I dreamed a midget called Hairgrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my room.

There was suddenly a loud wailing noise.

And there's Demon crying because I won't wake up, Barry thought, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a cool dream.

EAAH!

"All right!" Barry shouted. "I'm getting up!"

He sat up and Hairgrid's tiny leather jacket fell off him. The house was still dark, but the storm was lessening, Hairgrid himself was sleeping hanging off the back of the sofa by his knees, and there was a flying squirrel wailing at the window, a magazine held in its teeth.

Barry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as if Demon had fallen into the ocean. He went straight to the window and slid it ajar. The squirrel swooped in and dropped the magazine on top of Hairgrid, who didn't wake up. The squirrel then swooped onto the floor and began to attack the pocket area of Demon's pants.

Barry laughed. Demon awoke and began screaming.

"Hairgrid!" Barry shouted. "There's a squirrel attacking Demon! Come watch!"

"Pay him," Hairgrid mumbled.

"What?"

"The little guy wants some cold hard cash for delivery. Look in my jacket pockets."

Hairgrid's pockets had some very odd items in them- bunches of miniature guitars, squirrel feed, balls of yarn, mint chip ice cream gum, hot chocolate mix... Finally, Barry pulled out a wallet with strange-looking bills.

"Give him a Canadian Dollar."

"Canadian Dollars?"

"Yeah... But don't let that tell you anything 'bout the school's location," Hairgrid added quickly. "It's a secret."

Harry found a bill with a one on it, and the squirrel stopped attacking Demon and ran over so that Barry could roll up the money and put it into a beaded blue velvet pouch attached to its back like a backpack. Then it climbed up and jumped out the window, spreading its tiny arms to soar out over the sea.

Hairgrid gave a strangled snore, slid off the couch, and did a few push-ups and jumping-jacks.

"Best be gettin' outta this crib, Barry, lots to get done today, gotta get up to Sydney and buy all of your stuff for school."

Barry was turning over the Canadian Money and looking at it. He had just thought of something that made him feel as if Demon had just been rescued from drowning in the sea he fell into.

"Um- Hairgrid?"

"Yeah, man?" Hairgrid,who was pulling on his leather boots, said.

"I haven't got any money—and Uncle Very doesn't really have any that he hasn't blown on stuff for me…"

"Don't worry 'bout that, bro," said Hairgrid, standing up and touching his toes. "I've got tons of cash from my concerts, and absolutely nothing to spend it on! Heck, take it all, if you want! I'm rich! Oh, and your folks did leave a little somethin' somethin' for yah."

"But if their house was destroyed—"

"They didn't keep the cash lying out on the doorstep, dude! Nope, first stop: Frownlotts. Witches' and wizards' bank. Have a hot—er, cold—chocolate, it's not bad—and I wouldn't say no to the rest of your birthday cake, either… It really did cost a lot."

"Witches and wizards have banks?"

"Just the one. Frownlotts. Run by Gnomes."

Barry dropped the mug he was holding; it was a good thing the floors were carpeted and the mug landed right-side-up.

"Gnomes?"

"Yeah—so yah'd be crazy to try and rob it, bro. Never mess with gnomes, Barry. Frownlotts is the safest place in the world for anything you wanna keep under lock-and-key—'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, I best be gettin' to Frownlotts anyways. For Mumble-man. Hogwarts business." He yawned dramatically as he stretched his arms. "No big deal, just some top secret stuff I totally don't want you to ask me about, so, yeah." When Barry didn't ask, he frowned and said, "Got everything? Well, there's nothin' really here 'cept Twinkies, so, let's get a move on!"

Barry followed Hairgrid out onto the island. The sky was only a bit clouded now and the sea had only relatively bad visibility. The speedboat Uncle Very had hired was still there, though badly beat up and upside down after the storm.

"How'd you get here?" Barry asked, looking around for another boat or a Segway.

"Simple spell," said Hairgrid.

"A spell?"

"Yeah—we can't go back in this thing. But, then again, I'm not technically supposed to use magic now that you're hanging with me…"

Hairgrid sat down on a rock with Barry as Barry contemplated what the price would be for one of Hairgrid's albums.

"I don't know how else we'll leave, though," said Hairgrid, giving Barry another of his sideways looks. "If I was to—er—speed things up a bit, would yah mind not mentioning it back at Hogwarts?"

"Sure!" said Barry, eager to see more magic. Hairgrid pulled out the red guitar again and tapped the top twice. A grappling hook popped out on either end. He then attached one to his belt and put one hand firmly around the back of Barry's shirt collar. After making sure that the hook was secure, he threw the guitar onto the cliff they had come from, letting a long rope unravel in between.

Just then, a loud shout of, "Wait!" came from behind the front door, followed immediately by Uncle Very bursting through, still in his pajamas, with Demon hot on his tail. "I just woke up!" Very shouted, running down the island. "I'm coming with you! Remember?"

"Me, too!" Demon added. "Mom's still sleeping!"

Hairgrid looked questioningly down at Barry, who gave a tiny shake of his head. Hairgrid nodded and gripped the rope, pushing off of the island hard with his little feet as Uncle Very barreled underneath them.

"Barry! Come back!" Demon shouted desperately, bursting into tears.

"What are you doing? Slow down! Come back!" Uncle Very yelled after them.

"Later, dudes! Wooooooohooooooooo!" Hairgrid shouted as they rocketed into the sky, the jumping, waving forms of Very and Demon becoming little specks in the distance.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Frownlotts?" Barry asked.

"Spells, charms, and little tiny people," said Hairgrid, opening his magazine as he spoke and turning to the news section. "They say there're pugs that everyone's allergic to gaurdin' the high-security vaults. And then yah gotta find your way- Frownlotts is a mile underneath Sydney, yah know. Deep under the subway. Yah'd die of aggravation tryin' to get out, even if yah could swipe somethin', man."

Barry tried to make himself more comfortable as Hairgrid read his magazine with one hand, the Daily Profit. Barry had learned from Uncle Very that people liked to talk as they read, but he couldn't think of what to say.

"Wing of Wizardry messin' things up as usual," Hairgrid said, reading an article intently.

"There's a Wing of Wizardry?" Barry asked, intrigued.

"Duh," said Hairgrid."Mumblemore wanted to be Head, of course, but he couldn't leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Chip got the job."

"Cornelius Chip?"

"Yeah… But we call him Corn Chip. Or Corny. Terrible Head if there ever was one. So he pelts Mumblemore with flying squirrels and owls every morning, asking for him to take over."

"But what does the Wing of Wizardry do?"

"Well, their main problemo is keepin' it from Muggles that there's witches and wizards springin' up every other day all over the place."

"Why?"

"Why? Duh, B-man, every peep would want a magic solution to all of their probs. No, I don't need even more fans flocking my crib."

At this moment precisely they flew over the cliff's edge, flinging them onto the ground. Hairgrid sighed, saying, "I only got to read one story—didn't even get to look at the fashion section," and rolled up his magazine. Then the pair walked for about ten minutes to get back to the road that Very had driven them there on, and off they went into the big city it wound through.

Passerby stared a lot at Hairgrid as they walked down the crowded streets to the train station. Barry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hairgrid half the size of anyone else, he was a rock star who was passionately singing and playing the electric guitar quite loudly as he danced down the street.

"Hairgrid," said Barry, stopping to wait for Hairgrid, who had gone down on his knees for a guitar solo, "did you say there are pugs at Frownlotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hairgrid. "Darn, I'd like a pug."

"You'd like a pug?"

"Wanted one ever since I learned that they weren't myths—here we are!"

They had reached the station. There was a train to Sydney in one minute's time. Hairgrid, who wanted to learn how to use 'Muggle money', as he called it, almost made them late by forcing Barry to let him pay for their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hairgrid took up less than a half of a seat and sat writing what looked like a song with random notes.

"Still got your letter, Barry?" he asked as he played a few notes and shook his head, then scribbled part of the song out. Barry took the crisp white envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hairgrid. "There's a list there of everything the first year dudes need."

Barry unfolded a second piece of paper he had been too lazy to read the night before and read to himself:

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

**UNIFORM**

First year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (pink)

2. One plain pointed hat (pink) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (cow hide or similar, dyed pink)

4. One winter coat (pink, gold fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry embroidered name tags.

_No black! NO!_ Barry thought despairingly.

**COURSE BOOKS**

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ by Mary Goscrane

_A History of Magic_ by Matilda Sackhit

_Magical Theory_ by Edelbert Bageling

_A Beginners' Guide to Transformation_ by Ametic Change

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllis Bacterium

_Magic Drafts and Potions_ by Arsonious Jig

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Sally Mander

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quellan Tremble

**OTHER EQUIPMENT**

1 wand or magical substitute

1 cooking pot (gold, 24 karat) set

1 crystal or quartz phials

1 telescope with computer program and built-in camera

1 electronic gold scale

Students may also bring an owl OR a flying squirrel OR an armadillo OR an insect/bug

PARENTS ARE REMIDED THAT FIRST YEARS MUST BRING THEIR OWN MOP/SWIFFER

"Can we buy all this in Sydney?" Barry wondered aloud.

"If yah know where to go," said Hairgrid, wiggling his fingers mysteriously.

Barry had been to Sydney tons of times, but never to shop. Although Hairgrid openly admitted to having no idea where he was going, he led Barry around to various places, usually ones with dead ends, as if he did. Often when he was walking, he would randomly stop, causing Barry to walk into him. After he did this, he would go into a nearby store and loudly announce, "Barry Smotter is here!" When no one reacted, he would say, "Darn it!" and storm out.

Hairgrid was so small that multiple people stepped on him as he walked through the crowd; Barry kept far away from him to avoid the same fate. Eventually, Hairgrid put his guitar back in his hair to cushion it from harm. Barry still had no idea where they were going. Could there really be towering stacks of Canadian dollars buried only a mile beneath them? Were there really shops that sold that much pink? Might this all not be some huge joke that the Deadly's had cooked up? If Barry hadn't known that the Deadlys wouldn't want him away for more than a minute at a time, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though he had just met him, Barry couldn't think of any other option except for trusting Hairgrid—where else would he go? Back to the island? How?

"Yes! Found it! Booyah!" shouted Hairgrid, jumping in the air and coming to a halt. "Here it is—the Drippy Pot! It's almost as famous as you."

It was a huge, shiny, futuristic bar. If Hairgrid couldn't find this after at least four hours, Barry wouldn't plan on going anywhere else with him. The people strolling by stared at it, but seemed to not actually see it. In fact, Barry had the most peculiar feeling that even though the other people could sense something there, only he and Hairgrid could actually see it. Before he could voice this in the form of a question, though, Hairgrid had grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside.

Barry could easily see why it was so famous. The inside was vast and glimmering, with the most advanced technology Barry had ever seen in a bar. Servant robots, menus with voice activated order placements, everything—they had it all. A few young women were sitting in a corner, drinking crystal glasses of amber liquid. One of them was talking as the others smiled and laughed. A tall man in a bowler hat was talking to a young, fit looking bartender. The laughing and tinkling sound of clinking glasses paused as they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hairgrid; they waved and smiled at him, the bartender especially, reaching out a hand as he came out from behind the bar while saying, "Hairgrid! Good to see yah again!"

"No time to chat, man; I'm on Hogwarts bizz," said Hairgrid, gesturing with his thumb at Barry, who looked like a giant behind him.

"Sweet Wizard Stew," said the bartender as he raised his gaze to meet Barry's. "Do my eyes deceive me... is this…?"

The Drippy Pot suddenly became filled with excited whispers, question in their voices.

"Holy Hairgrid," whispered the young bartender. "Barry Smotter… It's really you!"

The Drippy Pot was filled with squeals as the bartender went down on one knee and bowed his head to Barry. The other occupants of the bar followed suit, the tall man taking his hat off and holding it to his chest with one hand to reveal a head of purple hair. When the bartender looked up, Barry could see tears in his eyes.

"Um… Nice to meet you, mister…" Barry began, holding out his hand to the bartender, who stood.

The bartender grabbed Barry's hand and shook it heartily. The people in the bar gasped, whispering, "He touched Barry Smotter! He's shaking hands with Barry Smotter!"

"Bob," said the bartender, wiping tears from his eyes. "The name's Bob."

Barry didn't know what to say. The bartender was still shaking his hand, and the people around him were standing up from their bows and crowding around him. Hairgrid jumped onto one of the bar stools and yelled, "One at a time, one at a time!"

Barry soon found himself shaking hands with everyone in the building.

"Boris Crocker, Mr. Smotter, can't believe you're really here!"

"Oh my gosh! It's Barry Smotter!"

"Always wanted to take the hand of a famous person—I think I'm going to throw up!"

"Well, Mr. Smotter, I am absolutely delighted to meet you, Wiggle's the name, William Wiggle."

"I've seen you before!" exclaimed Barry over the noise as a young woman touched Barry's hand and fainted. "You shook my hand once at McDonalds!"

"He remembers!" cried William Wiggle, raising his hands in fists high into the air. "Did you hear that? Barry Smotter remembers me!"

Barry shook hands again and again—Hairgrid began giving CDs of his songs to Barry to autograph and sell for $49.95 apiece.

A dark young man scurried forward, quite spastically. He kept his hands curved at his chest, like a squirrel's paws.

"Professor Squirrel in the house!" shouted Hairgrid. "Yo, B-man, Professor Squirrel will be one of your teaches at Hogwarts." Hairgrid made guns with his fingers and made a funny clicking noise as he pointed them at Barry.

"Smotter!" the Professor shouted in a squeaky, chipmunk like voice, putting his hands on Barry's shoulders. They were unnaturally small compared to his body. "Yay! I finally get to meet you!" It sounded as if he had inhaled helium.

"Whaddaya teach, Professor Squirrel?" Barry inquired.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Professor Squirrel said proudly. "Not that you'll actually encounter any dark stuff, right?" He laughed maniacally. "You'll be getting all your equipment, I presume? I've got to pick up a new book on small animals, myself." He seemed excited at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Squirrel keep Barry to himself. The Professor squealed and scampered away as more people closed in on Barry.

It took almost a half an hour to get away from them all. At last, Hairgrid managed to make himself heard over the babble from his perch on the bar stool.

"One last signed CD, Barry, and then we've gotta get a move on—lots to buy! Don't worry, folks, there'll definitely be another CD signing in the near future!"

Barry gave one last signed CD to William Wiggle, signed a man's forehead, and tried to leave, but was stuck in the crowd. Meanwhile, Hairgrid was looking a bit queasy considering the distance he was at from the floor. Making a flying leap, he landed on Barry's back, causing him to stumble forward and out of the crowd. Hairgrid took hold of Barry's hair and steered him into a few walls before getting the hang of it. Then he directed Barry through the bar and out into a wide open field where there was nothing but a large stone wall towering at least seven Barry's above the ground at the other end of the courtyard.

Hairgrid grinned at him as they walked over to it.

"I told yah so, didn't I, man? I told yah you'd be worshipped! Even Professor Squirrel was practically vibrating at the prospect of meeting you—though he's usually like that, anyways."

"Is he always that skittish and excited?"

"Oh, yeah. Great guy, Squirrel. Bit weird, though. He was fine while he was studying outta books, but then he took a day off to see what it was really like… Walked straight into the forest, ran out ten seconds later, screaming, a squirrel hanging onto his leg with its teeth. Never been the same since. Squeaky voice, loves little animals, never did before… Where'd I put my guitar?"

Squirrels? Biting? Barry's head was swimming—he hadn't known that squirrels could be so viscous. In truth, Barry had a kind of soft spot for the little things ever since he had dared Demon to climb a tree when they were six and Demon had been attacked by a group of squirrel babies. Turns out, they had thought he was an acorn, and they were trying to roll him gently back to their nest, but Demon had panicked and jumped out of the tree, breaking his arm in the process.

Hairgrid, meanwhile, had jumped down from Barry's back and was searching in his beard for his guitar.

"Oh, that's right! I put it in my hair!" He reached behind him and pulled it out, then began counting stones in the wall they had just reached. "Three across... two up…" he muttered. "Right! Stand back, Barry!"

Barry took a step back as Hairgrid tapped the wall three times with the top of his guitar.

The stone he had touched quivered—it wriggled—a small hole appeared…

"Welcome," said Hairgrid, gesturing with his hands at the wall, "to Horizont Alley!"

The brick stilled and the hole shrank back.

"Darn it!" Hairgrid shouted, jumping up and down. "I always forget the combo. Guess we're gonna have to do it the old fashioned way. Stand a little farther back, Barry. It's about to get ugly."

Barry took a few more steps back as Hairgrid went into another karate stance, hands above head, leg out.

"Hiiiiiyah!" he shouted, kicking the wall.

At first, nothing happened. Then a section of bricks crumbled and fell onto the ground.

"Wow!" Barry exclaimed. "You're really good at karate!"

"Not karate, man," said Hairgrid, flipping his hair. "It's tae kwon do. A more subtle, gentle art. To be used only for self-defense… and awesomeness. Well, come on, dude."

Hairgrid jumped up, grabbed onto the bottom of the hole in the wall, and pushed his tiny self through. Barry tried to follow, but got stuck halfway through, and Hairgrid had to pull him out.

It's a good thing we didn't bring Demon and Uncle Very, thought Barry. They never would've fit through here.

Barry looked quickly back over his shoulder. The bricks on the other side quickly flew into place to turn it back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of pots outside the nearest shop. Pots—All sizes- Gold, Silver, Crystal, Diamond—Electronic—Miniature, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll need one of those bad boys," said Hairgrid, "but we gotta get your cash first."

Barry wished he could see everything at once. He forced himself to look only straight ahead—he'd make sure to come back here to see the rest another time. Just in front of them was a thin woman outside an Apothecary, shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Mouse lung, only two dollars a pound, I can't believe the deals here!"

A high pitched screeching came from a bright shop with a sign saying, Skylops Squirrel Emporium—Black, Albino, Gray, Brown, and Mottled. Several boys about Barry's age had their noses pressed against a window with Swiffer Cleaners and mops in it. "Look," Barry heard one of them say, "the new Swiffer Sweeper Two Thousand—wipes away the competition, it says…" There were shops selling cloaks, shops selling telescopes and expensive microscopes with attachments Barry had never seen before, windows stacked high with barrels of pig spleens and parrot eyes, towering piles of picture books, sparkly pens and pencils, and stacks of paper, lotion bottles that were apparently cures for 'Robe Rash', globes of the world in pink and purple…

"Frownlotts," said Hairgrid.

They had reached a red, yellow, and blue building that resembled a giant child's playhouse. Standing beside its plastic yellow doors, wearing a pointy red hat and a blue shirt with yellow pants was—

"Yeah, that's a gnome. Argh, I hate tiny peeps. They creep me out," said Hairgrid quietly as they walked up the red playhouse material steps toward him. The gnome was about an inch taller than Hairgrid. He had a pinched, angry face, a long white beard, and tiny fingers and feet. He threw himself onto the ground in a bow as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second set of doors, blue this time, with words painted sloppily in red upon them:

_Hi, stranger—are you sure you want to come in? _

_Please remember that greed is a sin. _

_Because, if you take from us some green, _

_We would think you really mean! _

_So if you wanna make us mad, _

_Then steal something really bad. _

_One thing you should remember: we are not feeble! _

_Never mess with little people! _

"Like I said, bro, yah'd be mad to try and rob it," said Hairgrid.

A pair of gnomes ushered them in, opening the doors for them. They entered a relatively small room, but it would've been huge if Barry was a gnome. A few gnomes were sitting around lazily with their heads lying on their arms with their arms on their desks, twiddling pencils and pacing in one door and out another of an extremely confusing hall of more multi-colored doors. Barry supposed it was a slow day. Looking around, it seemed as if the entire place had been furnished by Fischer Price. Hairgrid and Barry made for the counter, where a gnome was sitting with its feet up and its fingers laced together and resting on his chest. Every one of the workers seemed to be male, now that Barry really studied them.

"Morning, dude," Hairgrid said to the one with his feet up. "We've come to take some cash outta Mr. Smotter's safe."

"The famous Mr. Smotter?" the gnome drawled, looking only at Hairgrid. "You may as well tell me that Justin Bieber has just arrived."

"No, it's true, man. See?" Hairgrid pulled Barry closer to the counter by his arm.

The gnome's gaze fell on him, and he began to stammer. "M- Mr. S-S-Smotter! Our dearest apologies. D-d-do you have your k-key, Sir?"

"Got it here somewhere, bro," said Hairgrid, and he started emptying his beard onto the counter, spilling a hairy ball of squirrel feed over the gnome's book of gardening tips. He wrinkled his nose. Barry watched the gnome behind this one screaming, "Wheeeeeeeeeee!" continuously as he spun on a rolling chair, gripping the seat on either side.

"Bingo! Got it!" said Hairgrid at last, holding up a huge diamond key with both hands. Barry stared at it, wondering how many Canadian dollars it was worth.

The gnome snatched it up, saying, "Thank you!" and inspected it under a critical gaze as he frowned. He took a long time inspecting it as Barry looked around again. He could also tell that all the gnomes were frowning, and he now knew how the place had gotten its name. His gaze fell back to the spinning gnome, the only one smiling. The one behind the desk looked up and commented, "Yes, he's a bit off. Anyway, your key seems to be in order."

"And I've also got a letter here from Professor Mumblemore," said Hairgrid, raising his eyebrows up and down and winking at the gnome, who rolled his eyes. "It's about the Guess-What in vault seven," he added pointedly, pointing at Barry twice and pulling his finger across his throat in a, Don't tell, gesture. He handed over another bright white printer paper that looked like the same stuff Barry's letter had been typed on.

The gnome spent quite a while inspecting this, too.

"Very well," he finally said in a bored monotone, handing it back to Hairgrid with an inclined head. "I will have someone take you down to both safes. Clutchcatch!" He whirled his chair away from them and the gnome gleefully screeching on the spinning chair abruptly stopped in both motion and vocalization.

"We've got customers? But it's barely noon! Most usually come in at three!" he shouted disbelievingly. He had a slight Irish accent. "Barry Smotter?" he asked. When Barry nodded and Hairgrid replied, "Uh-huh," with a smile, he said, "I will escort you immediately to your safe!"

Hairgrid took a moment to cram all of the squirrel feed, which was made up of mostly nuts and seeds, back into his beard; it seemed that everything in his beard had a specific place, just ones that Hairgrid often forgot. Then he and Barry followed Clutchcatch toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the Guess-What in safe seven?" Barry asked.

"Can't tell yah that," said Hairgrid, wiggling his fingers ominously again. "Top secret, bizz. Mumble-man's trusted me. More than my next four gigs are worth to tell yah that."

Clutchcatch held the door open for them. Barry, who had expected more red, blue, and yellow, was surprised. They were in a narrow green passageway lit by a line of huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It also had stairs steeply upward, which they climbed, and there were roller coaster track pieces at the top. Clutchcatch made a noise like a bark while cupping his hands around his mouth and a long roller coaster whose front and back carts were shaped like the head and bottom of a pug with its tongue sticking out came hurtling along the tracks toward them. They climbed in—Barry had to lift Hairgrid in— and they were off, Barry and Hairgrid in front, Clutchcatch right behind them.

At first they just hurtled at what must've been at least a hundred miles an hour through all kinds of garden scenery—volleyball nets, beach balls, lawn chairs… Barry felt like his face was being ripped off as he tried to make sense of what was flashing past. He had just realized that there were no seat belts, and he held on tightly as he wondered if the ride had a max speed, which he hoped, because it seemed to be getting even faster.

"I'm terrified of roller coasters! I always hate this part!" shouted Hairgrid as they approached the climax of a steep hill. "I think I'm gonna be sick!"

Barry leaned quickly away from him as Hairgrid's face turned green. He leaned over the side of the coaster and made a barfing noise while they dropped. At the bottom, Barry heard a splat noise and saw that Hairgrid's vomit had hit Clutchcatch, who was no longer smiling.

Barry's eyes stung as the air rushed past them, so he closed them momentarily. When he opened them, he heard a bark and twisted around to see if it was a pug, but it was too late. The coaster got faster as the drops increased in height, though the distance of the climb stayed the same; Barry assumed this meant that they were going deeper underground. He decided that he loved the ride.

The scenery now turned into a futuristic light show as they flew through the green walls. Barry looked down and saw that the floor was real greenery, flowers, tree, grass, growing even though they were inside.

"Cool!" Barry exclaimed to Hairgrid over the noise of the ride. "Hairgrid—look at the ground! And look how high we are above the trees!"

Hairgrid peeked over, then quickly turned back around. "Stop telling me to look down!" he yelled. "I hope this is almost over! I think I'm gonna be sick again!" He closed his eyes.

Looking straight ahead, Barry gasped; they were headed straight for a solid wall. At the very last minute, though, the track swooped upward to come to a stop on top of what had just looked like solid wall, but was really a cliff.

Hairgrid was the first one out, leaping out of his seat almost before the cart stopped. He went to lean near a gnome-sized door in the left-hand wall, catching his breath. He had been hyperventilating.

Clutchcatch unlocked the door as Barry got down on his hands and knees to see inside. A lot of smoke that smelled like fresh barbeque came billowing out, making his eyes water. As it cleared, Barry exclaimed, "That's it?"

Inside was a stack of Canadian dollars. Just one small column of them. One heap.

"All yours, man," smiled Hairgrid.

All Barry's- he couldn't believe it. Were his parents poor or something? Just one measly pile of Canadian dollars?

When he voiced this, Hairgrid said, "Obviously you don't get it, man. Clutchcatch- grab some o' that cash for the B-man."

When he brought a small wad of them back (he was the only one able to fit through the door, other then the unsteady looking Hairgrid), Barry could see that they weren't one dollar bills. They were thousands.

Hairgrid came over and put a few in his own pocket. When Barry looked questioningly at him, he just winked. "So, B-man, you gonna pocket that stuff before it gets away from yah?" He leaned in close and whispered, "Yah can never trust gnomes once they got the money in fronta them."

Barry eagerly put the money in his pocket. Suddenly thirsting to spend, he shouted to the gnome standing nearby, "More, Clutchcatch, more!"

The gnome nodded and began bringing out more money. Barry had a real job on his hands watching out for Hairgrid's as well as Clutchcatch's suddenly greedy-looking hands. As Clutchcatch brought out more and more, the pile seemed not to get smaller. Whatever was taken immediately was replenished. With this in mind, Barry stood and handed Clutchcatch a few bills as he came out with another load.

Clutchcatch immediately threw his arms around Barry's feet and began to sob. "Why, thank you, kind Smotter!" he cried.

"Get off of me!" Barry screeched. "Whaddya think you're doing?"

The gnome sniffled. "I-I'm sorry! It's just that us gnomes are only paid minimum wage. Stupid corporate goblins, forking in the cash and doing nothing while we work our butts off all day every day and !" Clutchcatch resumed sobbing gratefully.

Hairgrid interrupted loudly with, "Um, dude! Can't we just get the whole cart ride thing over with and get a move on to safe seven before I start feeling sick again?"

The gnome immediately stopped sobbing. "Of course! Anything for the kind Barry Smotter's friend!"

They went higher now. The air warmed pleasantly as they hurtled up huge hills, but not far down. Hairgrid was looking better now.

Safe seven had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Clutchcatch importantly, "and let a real gnome show yah how it's done."

He stood in front of the door, cracked his knuckles, leaned his head to both sides, and did the macarana, jumping in the air and landing with spirit fingers at the end, and saying, "Cha!"

"If anyone but a Frownlotts gnome tried that, they'd be punched in the face by a mechanical boxing glove on a release spring," he commented.

Barry laughed at the mental image of Hairgrid macarana-ing, jumping in the air, landing and saying, "Cha!", then being punched in the face with a red boxing glove.

"What're you laughing at?" Hairgrid asked.

"Nothing!" Barry was quick to reply.

Something awesome was probably in this top security safe, Barry was sure, and he leaned forward excitedly, hoping to see Demon's dead body at the very least—but at first he thought that there was just a large, white door behind the first silver one. Hairgrid went in this time and pulled out the large white thing blocking the door. It was just a giant sack that resembled one that Santa Claus would carry, full of toys. Hairgrid threw it over his shoulder. Barry longed to know what it was, but, just as he was about to ask what it was, Hairgrid spoke.

"Come on, back in this stupid roller coaster ride, and don't talk to me on the way back, or I might throw up on you. Believe me, no one wants that, and I had way too many hot chocolates on the way here, bro."

One awesome coaster ride later they stood in the now slightly dimmer sunlight outside Frownlotts. Barry wanted to do a victory dance now that he had pockets bulging with thousands of dollars, but thought he'd look stupid. He made a mental note to do one when they got home from Horizont Alley. Barry wondered where they were going home to, and what to buy first; maybe a wallet, since the money was threatening to spill over and out of Barry's black cargo pants onto the cobblestoned street. He didn't trust Hairgrid to hold any either—he would most likely either steal it or get hot chocolate spilled on it from within his beard. All Barry knew for sure was that he didn't have to count the bills to know that he had in his pockets more money than he'd had in cash in his whole life, and had never been more thankful that Target sold black cargo pants.

"Prob should be gettin' your uniform," said Hairgrid, nodding toward Mistress Mockin's Robes For Certain Occasions. "Listen, Barry, would yah mind if I slipped off for a quick showing in the Drippy Pot? I promised them a private concert from one of Barry Smotter's close personal friends." He looked extremely excited, so Barry entered Mistress Mockin's shop alone, feeling awesome.

Mistress Mockin was a tall, strict looking witch dressed in all black.

"Another of you Hogwarts folk?" she said as Barry started to speak. "Will I ever get a customer above the age of eighteen? There's another one already in back being fitted—it's like a swarm!"

Mistress Mockin began critically inspecting Barry top to bottom. All of a sudden, she looked curious, and the fierce scowl on her face was replaced by a delighted grin that made her look like a little girl.

"You're… you're…" she stammered.

Barry put up his hands and blinked slowly, smiling. "Yes," he said, "I'm Barry Smotter."

Mistress Mockin gave a scream that could've competed with Demon's loudest, throwing her hands up into the air.

"Barry Smotter! In the flesh! Come with me, please!" She took Barry's wrist and pulled him deeper into the store.

In the back of the shop, a boy with a tan, squared face was standing on a footstool while a second scowling witch pinned up his long hot pink robes, which looked horrific. Barry forced himself to remain calm as the thought of his turn popped into his head.

"You will wear our finest robes!" exclaimed Mistress Mockin.

Barry hoped that this meant that they wouldn't be pink.

Mistress Mockin snapped her fingers and another witch ran out from seemingly nowhere, then got down on her hands and knees in front of a mirror next to the first boy. Mistress Mockin pushed Barry up to stand on the new witch's back.

"H-H-Hi!" said the boy as she slipped a fuchsia robe over Barry's head and eagerly began to pin it up. "You're Barry Smotter, aren't you?"

"Why yes, yes I am," said Barry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a clear, happy voice. "Then I'm going to go and look at racing mops. You know, 'cause every first year needs one. I think I want one with an extended squeezy feature. Oh, I don't know how I'll ever pay my dear parents back!"

Barry was strongly reminded of Demon.

"Have you got your own mop?" the boy went on.

"Not yet," said Barry importantly.

"Play Quittit at all?"

"Not yet," Barry repeated, wondering what on Earth Quittit could be. Probably something awesome.

"I don't either, even though father thinks that I'm already good enough to get on the team, but I must say, he is a complete fool for saying that. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Barry snorted. "Of course!" he said, having no idea what they were talking about.

"Wow! That must just be because you're Barry Smotter, since no one really knows until they get there, but I'll most likely be a Wrigglin, all our family have been—imagine being in Huffandpuff, though, it'd be great, wouldn't it?"

"Totally!" Barry exclaimed emphatically, still completely lost. He threw up his arms as he said this, accidentally hitting the boy in the face. He didn't seem to notice.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, pointing rather rudely toward the front window. Hairgrid was standing there on his tiptoes to see in, grinning and holding two large mugs of hot chocolate to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hairgrid," said Barry, pleased to be able to brag about knowing someone else who was famous. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of rock star, isn't he?"

"He's also an environmentalist," said Barry. He was liking the boy more and more every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of musical genius—lives in a guest house on the school grounds and every now and then he gets inspired, plays a bit on his guitar, ends up waking the entire school, and brings everyone out for a concert."

"I know! I've heard him play in person before- he's brilliant!" Barry replied passionately.

"You have?" asked the boy with jealousy seeping out of every syllable. "Why is he with you? Is it because of—your parents?" he continued tentatively.

"Yeah, but it's cool," said Barry with a laid back tone. He didn't think that he had to explain anything further to this boy who knew more about his life than Barry himself.

"It's too bad," said the other, truly sounding devastated. "They could've become really powerful, seeing as they were our kind and all." He said this last part spitefully.

"What do you mean?"

"Some think that they shouldn't let the other sort in. They say they're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, it's true. The others think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. But you've got a big family name, so you've got nothing to worry about either way."

Before Barry could think of what to say next, Mistress Mockin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Barry, sorry to have to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from atop the witch he was standing on. She stood and rubbed her back, but was grinning widely.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the eager boy, seeming equally disappointed that their conversation was coming to an end. _This boy must not get out much,_ thought Barry. _I bet I've given him a great story to tell to his friends! _

Barry was rather talkative as he drank the hot chocolate Hairgrid had bought him (Swiss with pink mini marshmallows).

"Whoa, slow down, little bro! I can't even make out half of what you're saying!"

Barry slowed his long list of exactly what he wanted to buy and in what order so that Hairgrid could lead him to the next places that they needed to go to, which Barry was still uneasy about after seeing what the small man's navigation skills were worth. They stopped to buy a large stack of printer paper, crayons, markers, pens, and pencils. Barry cheered up even more when he found a sparkly crayon that changed color with your mood inside a pack of 96 Deluxe Crayons. When they had left the shop, Barry asked, "Hairgrid, what's Quittit?"

"Oh, man, Barry, I keep forgetting how dumb you must come across in our world—no offense."

"Offense taken," said Barry. He told Hairgrid about the tan boy in Mistress Mockin's.

"—and he said that some think that people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"You're not from a Muggle family, though, dude. I bet he acted that way 'cause he's not a pureblood—man, I wish I could've heard him worshipping you! You saw what everyone in the Drippy Pot was like when they saw yah. It doesn't really matter, anyways—look at your mom! Look what magically—and, for a fact, musically—inclined fool she had for a sister! She never was the prettiest, though. Guess the wizard blood helps a bit in that department, don't yah think?" He struck a model-like pose before Barry.

"So what is Quittit?"

"It's our sport. It's like—like interpretive dance in the real world—pointless, don't know why anyone would follow Quittit—played up in the air on mops and Swiffers and there's four discs—worst sport ever for exercise."

"And what are Wrigglin and Huffandpuff?"

"School 's four. Everyone says Huffandpuff are the coolest little dudes in the school, but—"

"I bet I'm in Huffandpuff," said Barry confidently.

"Better Huffandpuff than Wrigglin," said Hairgrid, scoffing as he nodded in agreement with Barry. "There's not a single cool witch or wizard that wasn't in Huffandpuff. Guess-Who was a lame-o, so of course he was in Wrigglin."

"Mol- sorry—Guess-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Back when I was taller than your mom and dad," said Hairgrid.

They bought Barry's school books at a shop called Fanfare and Spots, where the floor was covered messily with books that took up large portions of the floor bound in alligator scales; books the size of Barry's pupil in covers of snake skin that Barry was too afraid to touch in fear of crushing; books full of Chinese lettering and a few books about Barry himself. Demon especially would've been wild to get his hands on one titled: How To Win Over Barry Smotter, Edition Six—and probably editions one through five as well. Hairgrid almost had to drag Barry away from Countercurses and Countercountercurses (Protective Bubble, Disarming, and Much, Much More) by Vindictive Violet.

"I was trying to find out how to keep Demon away," Barry had complained.

"I'm not saying I wouldn't have done the same exact thing, but there are only certain things you can do with magic around Muggles," said Hairgrid. "Yah probably couldn't even do anything with those spells—they're pretty high level big boy stuff that even I don't know how to use yet. But don't worry, you'll be flinging those spells recklessly through rental homes someday."

Hairgrid led Barry to a shop to buy a pot, but wouldn't let Barry buy a black pewter one ("It says gold on your list!"), so they purchased a solid gold, jewel encrusted they bought an electronic, gold-plated scale (Hairgrid said that if they kept buying solid gold they'd run out of the money they had with them) for weighing potion ingredients and a shiny telescope that looked like it was made completely from moonstone, the latter of which they had quite a bit of trouble carrying around, what with its mount, laptop with partner program, and all. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was dull and slow-moving enough to make Barry forget about its strangely pleasing smell, a mixture of potpourri and Glades forest scent. Barrels of strange things stood on the floor; jars of sweet smelling herbs, freshly crushed petals, and strange spices lined the walls; bundles of foods, animal parts, and decorations alike hung from the ceiling, some exotic, some disturbingly familiar. While Hairgrid asked the woman behind the counter for a beginner's set for Barry, Barry himself examined red beets at three cents each and miniscule, intricate baby snake skulls (ten dollars per scoop). The entire time, he could feel the shopkeeper's disbelieving eyes boring into the back of his head. It was a pleasant feeling, though.

Outside the Apothecary, Hairgrid checked Barry's list again.

"Just your wand left—oh, yeah, and I still haven't gotten my absolute fav celeb his B-Day present!"

Barry perked up even more, if that was possible.

"What are you going to get me?" he asked.

"Something good. Something darn good. Got it!" He snapped his fingers as he said this. "I'll get yah a pet! Not a bug, bugs are freaky, no one would want to come near yah, no matter who yah are—and I don't like armadillos, they make me sneeze—and flying squirrels are my thing… I know! I'll get yah an owl! Everyone has flying squirrels, this'll really make you stand out… It'll also show off your boatload of cash, owls are darn expensive…"

A half an hour and a lot of screaming, crying, and begging later, they left Skylops Squirrel Emporium, which had been bright and full of screeching, flying, and pecking, razor sharp beaks. Barry had carried a plastic bag that held a giant, black great horned owl, even though Barry didn't know that they could come in black, but he or she (Barry honestly didn't want to check) had torn through the bag and was now digging its claws into Barry's arm. Barry had to put it on the leash they had bought to go around its neck and was trying to ignore the blood dripping down his arm, proud that everyone now knew his wealth as well as his fame.

"Aw, he's kinda cute!" Hairgrid exclaimed, looking over at Barry's new friend. "I've always had a soft spot for dark colored animals. Pugs come in black, too, you know. Anyways, just Graepivanders left now—only place I know for wands, Graepivanders, and yah gotta have a wand."

Barry's current thoughts—which were wondering why most everything around here was pink and why almost all of the stores were named after people—were immediately pushed into the back of his mind. A magic wand… this part would be awesome.

The last shop was huge and looked brand new. Shining silver letters over the door read Graepivanders: Producers of Magical Items since 2006 A.D. A display of wands spun in front of purple velvet in one of the front windows.

A loud horn sounded above their heads as they walked in. "Coming, coming!" shouted a man's frantic voice from the depths of the store. It was a large place, full of neat rows of wands that reached back what must've been fifty plus aisles. Barry felt as if he had entered a supermarket that only sold one thing; he stared at the shoeboxes nearest him, but couldn't make sense of the words on them. It was all too strange. There was some music playing in the background. Upon closer listening, Barry could tell that it was Justin Beiber. He wondered why all people in the wizarding world were so obsessed with him.

"I'm here!" shouted the voice again. These words were almost immediately followed by a thirty some man running around the corner and practically into Barry. "I'm so sorry," he said, looking up. His deep green eyes sparkled in the store's fluorescent lights.

"S'okay," said Barry, shrugging.

But the man was now staring at Barry. "B-B-Barry Smotter! My dearest apologies!" he replied. "Wow! A celebrity in the shop! This is the second! You have your mom's eyes. Wow!" he repeated. "It's been so long since your folks were in here, buying their first wands! What was your mother's again, willow? No, redwood? Plastic? Darn, can't remember. Maybe it was glass…"

Mr. Graepivander took a step back from Barry and turned to look at the wands. Barry wished he would get a move on. He really did want a wand of his own.

"And what about your dad? Was that the willow one? No, I think it was cherry… No, not that… Man, I hate this! Just forget it! The wand remembers the wizard, after all."

All of a sudden, Mr. Graepivander whirled around and moved very close to Barry. Barry tried not to breathe through his nose; the scent coming off of the man was horrific.

"Oh my gosh! Is that where…?" asked Mr. Graepivander.

He poked Barry on the forehead, right in the middle of his heart scar.

"I sold the wand that did it. The one that gave you your fame. You should be thanking me. Wand wasn't even that powerful, it's just your luck that you would get such a mean scar from it… wow, that is so cool! It's like a perfect heart! I never knew how precise it was…"

Hairgrid was now becoming quite miffed at being ignored, and had been trying to plant hints that he was there, such as walking quite close to Mr. Graepivander and playing stray notes on his guitar. Finally, reaching his limit, he stuck out his leg as Mr. Graepivander took a step forward, causing him to fall ace first to the ground, bringing Barry with him as collateral.

He finally spotted Hairgrid.

"Ruby! Ruby Hairgrid! How awesome to see you again! What was your first guitar made of, wood? Wax?"

"It was polycarbonate, dude. Like this one." Hairgrid held up his guitar.

"Nice one, man!" Mr. Graepivander replied with a grin. "But I thought you'd gotten expelled. Was I wrong?"

"Um, yes, yes I was…"

"S'okay," said the other man, winking. "I'll keep your little secret for you."

Hairgrid, who had been very tense from the time that they had begun their conversation up until now, gave an immense sigh of relief.

"Thanks, man," he said gratefully.

"Don't mention it," Mr. Graepivander said back, lightly punching Hairgrid on the tiny arm. "Anyway—Mr. Smotter! Lemme see..." He pulled an entire measuring stick about two yards long out of his pocket. "Which is not your wand arm?"

"Er—wouldn't it make more sense to ask which arm was my wand arm?"

"Why?"

"Um… Never mind. I'm, um, left handed, so…" said Barry.

"Hold out your right arm, then. That's it," Mr. Graepivander said, measuring Barry's left arm. Then he mummy-wrapped Barry with a measuring tape he picked up from nearby and looked at the measurement for that, too. As other strange measuring went on, he said, "Every Graepivander wand has a core filling, too. We, well I, since no one would work for me, imagine that, use pug hairs, flying squirrel heartstring, and sandpiper tail feathers. That's why wands do funny stuff when they're with someone who isn't their owner."

Barry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was currently shaping into a tie around his neck, had wrapped around his entire body, as well as tying the measuring stick to his right leg, and he was now basically immobilized. It was also doing all of this with the help of a tiny troll. It was so small, Barry had originally assumed that the tape measure was conducting itself.

"That'll be all," Mr. Graepivander said, frowning as he pulled the troll off of Barry's shoulder and set him down behind the counter. "Right then, Mr. Smotter. Try this one. Plastic with pug hair. Twenty-six inches. No, don't bend it like that, it'll break! Just take it and give it a twirl. You'll be needing to turn with it."

Barry snatched the wand out of his hand before he was finished speaking. He picked up his leg and, swinging the wand above his head like a lasso, stomped against the ground in a circle.

Mr. Graepivander and Hairgrid gave a small sigh at the motion, but Mr. Graepivander came up to Barry and tried to take it away. After wrestling with Barry over it for some time, he sat on a nearby chair, panting.

"Not the one for you. It doesn't go with your eyes at all."

"He's wearing contacts," commented Hairgrid.

"Never mind!" Mr. Graepivender snapped back testily. "Try it with this one. Glass and sandpiper feather. Fifteen inches. Wait, not like—"

Barry had whipped it around too fast, causing the air pressure to shatter the wand.

"Oops," he said.

A vein on Mr. Graepivander's forehead bulged, but he smiled kindly at Barry. "Quite all right," he said in a forcedly gentle voice. "Even celebrities make mistakes. How about… Maybe… Foam and squirrel heartstring? Try this one. You can be rough with it this time," he continued, his voice and vein returning to normal.

Barry tried. And he tried. He had no idea why he couldn't just pick one off of the shelf and be done with it. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the counter behind Barry, but the more wands Barry tried, the happier Mr. Graepivander seemed to become, until he was insanely giggling and excitedly muttering to himself as he sorted through more and more wands, a wack-job worthy smile plastered onto his face. Barry was beginning to wonder if he was just saying that the wands weren't right for him in order to see him make the silly motions again.

"Tricky customer, eh? Hehehehe… Not to worry, your wand is in here somewhere! Hmmm, why not this one…? Oh, what the heck—it's worth a shot! Oak and flying squirrel heartstring, seventeen inches, practically indestructible, amazing power, no idea what in Beiber anyone would use it for…"

Barry took the wand. He felt cold like ice suddenly spread into his fingers, and, as he made the wand-trying motions, he thought he could hear the strange, geeky laugh from before, followed by a nasal voice saying, "Look! He's dancing! Now that I think about it, you know, he's actually quite good…" Barry decided that he was just imagining things—he'd always had an over-active imagination, anyway, Barry thought to himself. As he moved further into the dance, Barry heard a sudden pop and felt streamers raining down on him; he could hear music playing that perfectly matched the tempo he was circling to. He could see rainbow disco lights swirling around him and the entire shop. He whooped, then noticed his counterparts' reactions as he completed another circle.

Hairgrid wolf whistled and began clapping and Mr. Graepivander said, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good! Fabulous!" as Barry continued to circle. This reaction didn't puzzle him until he heard people snickering as they peeked in the window from outside.

He looked down and realized that he was wearing a quite short and sparkly silver dress complete with matching heels and earrings that he hoped were clip ons. Embarrassed, he quickly tried to cover himself with his hands, but it only made the people at the window laugh. Luckily, they were only a small group of old ladies—no one who would be at Hogwarts, most likely. Unluckily, they had cameras out and snapping away. One had even come prepared with a video camera, and Barry didn't even want to know how much she'd seen.

Seeing that the show was over, Mr. Graepivander sighed and snapped his fingers, ending the music and shutting the lights. Barry was relieved to find himself back in his normal clothes. Apparently, Hairgrid had not yet realized that it had all been closed down, for he was still standing atop his chair while whooping as he spun with his guitar swinging above his head in an imitation of Barry. Slowly, the silence dawned on him, and he froze, blushing as he saw Barry and Mr. Graepivander staring at him.

"Um, that was… normal rock star stuff… Can we forget that this little part right here ever happened?" Hairgrid asked hesitantly.

"Agreed," said Barry, meaning it completely.

"Fine," said Mr. Graepivander, sounding much like a small child who'd just promised not to watch his favorite T.V. show that evening. He put Barry's wand back into its box. "Curious…" he murmured, just loud enough for Barry to hear. Barry couldn't figure out if that was on purpose or not.

"What's curious?" Barry asked, bewildered.

Mr. Graepivander looked fondly over to Barry.

"There are only two wands I remember making and selling, though this just may make three. It just so happens that the flying squirrel whose heartstring was in your wand gave only that one heartstring. Now, of course I couldn't take that heartstring with the squirrel alive, it'd probably bite me and fly away before I could. But this squirrel wasn't killed in the normal way, which is being butchered by me. Do you know how this particular squirrel died, Barry?"

Barry swallowed. Mr. Graepivander was getting a little too far inside Barry's personal bubble. The two were literally nose-to-nose before the older one spoke again.

"That squirrel," Mr. Graepivander said quietly, "was run over by Lord Moldyshorts."

Hairgrid, being the environmentalist he was, began to loudly bawl and turn away.

"You—you said his name! Are you okay with saying it?" Barry asked.

"I… said his name?" Mr. Graepivander asked incredulously.

Barry nodded.

"We're all gonna die!" the man shouted, crumpling to the floor in distress.

Barry was beginning to think that Mr. Graepivander was insane, or at least going senile. He paid a dollar fifty for his wand, but Mr. Graepivander seemed too shaken to take it, so Barry left the money on the counter, atop the pile of wands they'd tried before. Hairgrid was crying too hard to leave, and also had stammered out that no one else could see him crying and that he had to stay in the store until it stopped, but Barry picked him up and piggy-backed him out of the store. Barry wondered how the next customers would react to finding Mr. Graepivander rocking in a corner, a large stack of wands on the counter, a dollar fifty, streamers on the floor, and a certain troll that Barry could've sworn was hanging from the ceiling when he'd left.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Barry and Hairgrid (but mostly Barry) made their way back down Horizont Alley, back through the wall (Hairgrid had stopped crying and apparently had asked Mr. Graepivander for the correct combination), and back through the Drippy Pot, now empty except for the bartender sleeping on the counter, clothes and all (Hairgrid quietly informed Barry that he was homeless). Barry didn't speak the whole way there; he was too afraid that someone had seen him and would comment on the previous episode. They went back through the subway, where Barry's new owl shot the evil eye at anyone who looked their way, causing all eyes to leave the strange trio. The owl didn't even look remotely discomforted, and Barry wondered if it ever ate, drank, or slept. Up another glass elevator, out into the station; Barry only realized where they were when Hairgrid kicked his leg (he was too small for Barry to notice if he tapped on him, and, luckily, he was also too small for it to hurt.)

"Got time to eat before the choo-choo leaves, man," he said.

He bought Barry a hot chocolate (Barry thought that if he drank one more he would go nuts), and, as they sat down on a wooden picnic table to drink it, Barry kept looking around. It seemed so strange to know that there was another world that the people rushing past had no idea of.

"You doin' okay, B-man? You're awful quiet, little dude," said Hairgrid.

Barry didn't really feel like putting in the energy to explain. He'd just had the strangest birthday of his life—and yet—something popped into his mind as he sipped his hot chocolate and pondered this.

"No one wished me a happy birthday!" Barry exclaimed indignantly.

"They were too distracted with yah, B-man. But I said happy B-day to yah."

"But really! Even the Deadlys didn't, and they always do!"

"Well, they didn't really get much of a chance, did they?"

"I guess you're right." Barry sighed. "Everyone loves me," he continued after a pause. "All those people in the Drippy Pot, Professor Squirrel, Mr. Graepivander… but I only know a bit about magic. How do they know what I'll do in the future? I'm famous and I never even knew it. I don't even know what happened that night." Barry dropped his head in defeat. Hairgrid was the only person that Barry would ever vent his insecurities to, strange as it seemed. Even though the two had only known each other for about eighteen hours, Barry sensed cool-ness in Hairgrid, and he felt that one cool person's troubles were all cool peoples' troubles.

Hairgrid climbed atop the table and scooted to Barry's side of it to get closer, laying on his stomach so that he was at eye-level with Barry. Barry could feel many pairs of curious eyes on him as the passerby stared at the odd scene.

"Don't you worry your little head, B-man. You'll learn. If it makes you feel any better, even I had trouble my first few years at Hogwarts." Strangely, this didn't make Barry feel better at all. Hairgrid continued. "Just be your awesome self. I know it's tough to be famous, but look at me! I'm famous, and I'm fine." He then took Barry's mug of hot chocolate right out of his hands (not that Barry cared in the least) and downed the entire thing in one huge gulp, which was an even bigger feat if you counted the fact that four gallons of milk could probably outweigh Hairgrid. "Well, come on—let's get you on that train."

Barry looked over his shoulder and saw that the train that was to take him back to the Deadlys had just arrived. Thinking of going home to Demon, Very, and Daisy, without Hairgrid, make Barry get small pangs of sadness in his stomach. Over the hours he had become quite fond of Hairgrid and even less, if possible, of his actual relations. The thought of going back to them suddenly made Barry want to throw up as if he had just drunken five more mugs of bad hot chocolate and gone on the Frownlotts coaster three times in a row.

Hairgrid helped Barry onto the train, then handed him an envelope.

"Your ticket to Hogwarts," he said none too quietly, causing the other people getting on the train to look over inquisitively. "Numero uno of month numero nine-o—that's Spanish, you might want to take notes on that. It's at Queen's Star Station—of course, this information is all on your ticket anyway, so I don't really know why I'm even telling this to you. Oh, yeah, the Spanish! Anyway, you have any, er, problems with the Deadlys, send me a letter with your owl, he'll know where to find me…" He winked, as if this had some kind of special hidden meaning. Barry didn't know what that could mean, but he was glad to know his owl's gender, at least. Hairgrid was beginning to sound increasingly choked up. "See—see yah soon, B-man." Hairgrid turned around and wiped at his eyes when he thought Barry wasn't looking.

As usual when emotion was displayed, Barry was suddenly in a hurry to get away. "See you, too, Hairgrid! Write a great song for me while I'm gone, will you?"

"I will, B-man! It'll be the best song ever!" Hairgrid shouted back, running after the train in a quite comical way as it pulled out of the station. He ran next to it for a bit, but tripped and lost it. Barry leaned out of the window nearest him in what must've been the most unsafe gesture possible at the moment, waving. This continued on for a while, with Hairgrid waving back with his guitar, until the back of Barry's head hit a tree, causing him to wince. When he reopened his eyes, though, Hairgrid and the station were gone. He pulled himself back inside and prepared for a long ride.


End file.
